Song
by lizfanfirst
Summary: The developing and tumultuous relationship between Elizabeth Webber and Ric Lansing. Can they fall in love and stay together despite enormous odds?
1. part 1: love at first sight

song part 1: love at first sight  
  
Premise: The future? LiRic, mentions of Journey, Liason, and L&L2.  
  
*  
  
No rest without love, no sleep without dreams.  
  
-- From the poem 'Song' by Allen Ginsberg  
  
*  
  
It had all become muscle memory. She picked up the glasses off of the table and placed them onto the tray, placed the tray down on the chair, wiped off the table, picked up the tray, pushed the chairs in, moved on to the next table. It was a routine, one she had to stick with, because she knew that if she didn't, her façade might just crumble and then people would see how much she was hurting.   
  
The anger, the betrayal, the pain-that was the worst. Feeling as though she had taken a chance on people, put her faith in them, and they had crushed that underneath their shoes, not caring, not ever looking back, not even bothering to tell her.  
  
Elizabeth Webber was tired of being treated like she was expendable. She was tired of being taken for granted. Lucky did it; Lucky was probably the worst of all, because of how much she had loved him. He had known that she would just always be there, and he had thought that even after he had moved on to Sarah. Her own sister. Jason did it, and somehow that betrayal had hurt more, the sting more bitter, because she had thought that he was going to fight for her, was going to try to regain her affection. Instead, he had simply moved on to a dumb blonde. That was what Lucky had done, too.  
  
She had seen him in Kelly's with the New Girl. She had never seen her before, but it didn't matter, because she had seen a hundred like her. Was this what Helena Cassadine had done to him? Given him bad taste in women? The resemblance to Lucky's own mother, Laura, was stunning, but that wasn't what had stung about it. It was Lucky and Sarah. It was Jason and Courtney. It was Lucky and this new girl. It was a symbol of every man she had loved and failed to win.  
  
She picked up the glasses off of the next table, put them on top of plates, put them on the tray, placed them on the chair, wiped off the table. It would be better, she decided, if I just got amnesia. Then I could start over. What I have instead is boxcars and leather jackets, guitars and baseball bats, bracelets and motorcycles. She didn't even know if she had any right to be angry with Jason for his so-called betrayal. It was like Courtney had said, Courtney, the hypocrite, Courtney, the married woman, Courtney, the pretty blonde who had pretended to be her friend. Elizabeth had told Jason it would never work out, and she left.  
  
What Courtney missed out on was that Jason was supposed to follow her. Chase her. Try and win her back.  
  
Something stopped him, something less tangible than Courtney herself. Fear? Pride? Elizabeth didn't know. All she knew was that now she had lost him.  
  
She smiled as a memory from the previous night crossed through her confused head. Well, there was one bright point, you showed up. Ric. Ric Lansing.  
  
Did she even have any right to be thinking about him? She had ruined everything else in her life-did she want to go there with Ric? This was a friendship they were developing. She trusted him already, and that was a bad sign. If she handed her heart over to him, he would undoubtedly stomp on it, spit on it, and then stick it in a blender and act like nothing had happened. That's what everyone else had done. The thought of Ric left a different taste in her mouth than the thought of Jason had. This had nothing to do with Jason. At first, yes, she had entertained some fantasies of using such a gorgeous guy to make Jason jealous-but that was before. Before Courtney. Before she had seen him on television, before she found out he had been arrested for Luis Alcazar's murder. Her stomach had churned when she had seen that, her heart plummeted, her hands grown clammy, her mouth become dry. Not a thought for Jason had been in her head. Only Ric, all alone at the PCPD, hassled by Scott Baldwin and Marcus Taggert. He had no friends, no family, no one he could call or count on.  
  
So she had gone. And she wasn't dumb; she had seen that look on his face when he had seen her. How was it that this guy could make her feel more like a woman than anyone else ever had? Lucky made her feel like a teeny- bopper, Jason, although giving her independence, made her feel like she couldn't take care of herself, like she needed a man to take care of her.  
  
She had waited for him to call her, knowing that he probably wouldn't, but hoping-praying-that he would. And then he had shown up at Kelly's and smiled at her and told her that she was the bright point in the night.  
  
She moved on to the next table, cleaning it up, placing plates on the tray, wiping the surface. Courtney had ducked out early again, gone to be with Jason, no doubt. The girl had no sensitivity, didn't care. All Courtney cared about was herself, her own needs. Elizabeth smiled as she remembered AJ in Kelly's the day before, angry with Courtney. The girl was self- destructive. It was just a shame she was going to take Jason down with her.  
  
Paint in her hair. Helping with the register. Snowballs on the dock. Hot chocolate and guitar on Christmas Eve. The bickering, the sensitivity. He talked to her differently than he talked to Carly. He was softer, warmer. He was HumanRic, not BusinessRic. It didn't matter, she liked both of them. She liked everything about him. The curve of his mouth, the twinkle in his eyes, the way he carried himself, his confidence. She was scared of him, though. What was his past? Where had he come from? What was he doing in Port Charles?  
  
And worst of all, what if he was using her?  
  
She wasn't going to get played. She wasn't.  
  
She wished she had a closer female friend, someone she could talk to, someone her own age, someone who wasn't going to go after the man she thought she might have been in love with. A female friend would have assured her she was insane.  
  
All she had right now was herself.  
  
Her own strength.  
  
Which didn't amount to much, but she was getting stronger every day. She had Zander, and she had Nik. But like everyone else, they were dealing with their own problems, and she didn't want to burden them. Em was who she needed. Or Lucky, the way he was before.  
  
She finished clearing the tables and she put the tray up on the counter and crossed around the counter to the other side. How many times had she closed alone? How many times had she stood here, completely alone, standing strong in spite of everything? She had overcome so much, come so far, become a different person, and who had noticed?  
  
Elizabeth Webber, who was once little Lizzie Webber, tossed her rag down beside the tray and stood behind the register, her eyes gazing out an empty Kelly's. Her memory, her imagination, filled in people, regulars, Alexis Davis, Sonny Corinthos, Carly Corinthos, Jasper Jax, Lucky, Luke Spencer, Bobbie Spencer, Scott Baldwin, Nikolas and Gia, and Jason. Courtney. And Ric. She could see faces, hear the laughter, talking, tinkling of glasses and utensils against plates. Was she stuck here forever?  
  
Her arm moved and she accidentally knocked a glass down off of the counter and it shattered on the ground, breaking into a thousand pieces. Great, she thought. A metaphor. She picked up her rag again and bent to start cleaning it up.  
  
As she picked up the last couple of pieces, a shard cut her hand, and she cried out.  
  
"Elizabeth?" she heard, and she stood up slowly, clutching her now-injured and now-bleeding hand, pressing the once-white rag into the wound. "Are you okay?"  
  
Ric. He stood on the steps leading upstairs, wearing a black button-up shirt, the sleeves pushed up, and dark gray slacks, nicely pressed. He looked tired, like he had been working, but he still looked beautiful. "Yeah," she said. "The glass-it . . . attacked me." She held up her hand to show him, trying to demonstrate to him that it wasn't a big deal, nothing to worry about.  
  
"Let me look at that for you," he said to her, coming down from the stairs and crossing to the counter.  
  
"It's not really a big deal-" she started, but he gave her a look that told her that he wasn't going to buy that. He sat down at the counter across from her, and he took her hand from her gently. She was surprised at how warm his hands were. He held his injured hand in his two hands, cradling it.  
  
"It's just a scratch," he told her, looking at her and smiling. He was unassuming, not cocky with her. She liked that. "Do you-have a band-aid back there anywhere?"  
  
"I'll do it later," she said flippantly.  
  
"Well, at least wash it off. Clean the wound."  
  
"I will," she said softly, with a smile. They made eye contact, his eyes locked with hers, for just a moment, a fleeting moment. He still held her hand in his, and he smiled at her, that slow, spreading smile. "Were you working?" she asked, trying to change the subject.  
  
"On what?" he joked, pulling his hands away as she pulled hers away. "I don't have a job anymore."  
  
"It could always be worse. You could work here," she teased him.  
  
"I don't think that would be so bad."  
  
"Oh, it is that bad," she assured him.  
  
His eyes twinkled as he said, "Well, this place does have one thing going for it."  
  
"Which is--?" she asked. She waited for him to say that she was the one thing going for it, but she should have known that that was too obvious, too obvious for someone as subtle as Ric.  
  
"It's got a killer jukebox. Not to mention mediocre coffee." He grinned at her, clearly teasing her.  
  
"Well, Carly likes you, doesn't she?" she asked, a hint of suspicion in her voice. She was jealous of Carly, had been jealous for a while. There were things Elizabeth wasn't jealous of-Carly's hair, Carly's figure, her fashion sense, or her hostility towards all people, but she was jealous of Carly's relationship with Jason. And her apparent relationship with Ric. "Maybe she can convince Sonny."  
  
He watched her carefully, as though trying to figure out what her game was. She wasn't even sure she had a game. "Carly is a . . . . business associate. Or rather, she was."  
  
"Do you-want a drink?" she asked him.  
  
"Water would be fine."  
  
She turned and got him a glass of water with her uninjured hand and then turned back to Ric. She handed the glass to him, and as she did, their hands brushed. He looked at her, and then he placed the glass down on the counter. He took her uninjured hand in his own, and then covered it with his other one. "Did I-did I ever thank you for coming down to the police station?" he asked her.  
  
She looked down at their joined hands and smiled. "No. You didn't. But I don't need to be--"  
  
He brought her hand to his lips and pursed them slightly in a kiss. "Elizabeth. Thank you."  
  
"I just had to go. I saw you on the TV, and I had to go."  
  
He looked at her, her hand still at his mouth, and as he spoke, she could feel his lip moving against her knuckles. "Would you want to go and do something?"  
  
"Now?" she asked. She didn't know if he was asking her out or not, but if he was, she wanted to go. She wanted to go so bad.  
  
But she was scared.  
  
"Yeah, now," he replied, grinning.  
  
"I have to-I have to close the store." She watched his face fall, just slightly, but she saw the disappointment. Come on, Elizabeth, she told herself. Come on. Just say yes. Tell him that you don't know what this is, but you want to give it a try. Kiss him. Just do it. "But-tomorrow? We could do something tomorrow."  
  
The light in his eyes came back, and he smiled again. He released her hand, and he stood up, taking the water with him. "Tomorrow then. I'll find you here?"  
  
She chuckled lightly, and she said, "Yes. You'll find me here."  
  
"Good." He stood and turned and walked back up the stairs. She watched him go with a biting regret. She had to trust it, she had to let herself feel the feelings towards him that were coming so quickly, so suddenly.  
  
"Tomorrow then," she echoed softly.  
  
To be continued . . .  
  
Was tired of running out of luck Thinking 'bout giving up yeah Didn't know what to do Then there was you  
  
-- "Love at First Sight", Kylie Minogue 


	2. part 2: fragile

song part 2: fragile  
  
  
  
by Lucy  
  
  
  
Rating: PG (this section, at least)  
  
  
  
Premise: The future? LiRic, mentions of Journey, Liason, and L&L2. Everything up until 1/17 has occurred. The developing relationship between Ric and Elizabeth, with a little bit of intrigue soon to come, all wrapped up in a nice angsty bow. Also look for the returns of . . . Faison? Stefan? Stavros? Not going to tell you, but it'll be interesting.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
No rest  
  
without love,  
  
no sleep  
  
without dreams.  
  
  
  
-- From the poem 'Song' by Allen Ginsberg  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
She had bad dreams that woke her up sometimes, dreams so bad that she thought sometimes that she would never wake up. They were dreams of an event she had thought she had gotten over, but then again, she thought she had gotten over a great many things.  
  
  
  
Rape. It was an ugly word. Elizabeth Webber had many demons.  
  
  
  
The dreams came, but she awoke thinking about him. Ric. Not about Jason, for once. It had been Jason for months now, but she awoke thinking about Ric. Her studio smelled like oil-based paint, and there was a slight breeze coursing through the open room that she couldn't stop no matter how hard she tried. She wondered vaguely if Ric would like her studio, if he would ever even get the chance to see it. Or if this would all just fizzle out like everything else.  
  
  
  
It could be worse, she thought with a snort. It could be Zander.  
  
  
  
She stood up and stretched, feeling the coldness on her bare arms and stomach. She had to give Zander more credit than that. He had become a good friend, but anything romantic that had ever existed between them was a result of her own fear, her own weakness. Her own inability to tell Jason what she felt about him. Zander was a mistake, but she did care about him. She wasn't heartless; that was just the mask she felt she had to put on sometimes. It kept her hidden, kept her safe.  
  
  
  
She got dressed for the day, cleaned herself, made absolutely sure there was no paint in her hair, even though she was fantasizing about what it would feel like if Ric reached out his hand to her and touched her cheek. Her hand still burned from where he had kissed it last night.  
  
  
  
She wondered what Ric Lansing's demons were. Old girlfriends. Family. School. Sins. Old girlfriends. Current girlfriends. Fiancées on the opposite coast. Dead wives. Skeletons in the closet. If she could make him smile, she'd handle all of the demons. Her doomed relationship with Jason had given her that much. She hadn't been able to handle him, but she could handle whatever flew at her head next.  
  
  
  
Just as long as Ric didn't tell her that he was in love with Courtney. Or Sarah. She might have to take Jason's bat to his head if he said that. But then she might mess up his pretty face. And she'd feel bad. It wasn't like he had ever made her any promises. All they had up until now was stolen looks-he had asked her out last night, though, hadn't he? Or had that been something else altogether?  
  
  
  
She finished primping in the mirror, letting her hair loose around her shoulders. She looked cute, but . . . natural. She had on less make-up than she normally wore. Why the change, Elizabeth? she asked herself, but her own eyes in the mirror had no answers besides the obvious.  
  
  
  
She didn't want to play any games with Ric.  
  
  
  
She wanted to do this the right way.  
  
  
  
Even if it meant making the first move.  
  
  
  
At some point, she had to say goodbye to the man she had held onto for three years, to both of the men she had held onto. All she was doing was limiting herself. She had given them their chances, time and again, but the time was now to say no more. She was going to go after what she wanted, and she was going to get it. The world was going to be a different place. She tossed herself a smile in the mirror and then she grabbed her bag and turned and left the studio.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
She sat on the dock, waiting for her shift to begin, and she thought, obsessed about all of the things that had ever happened here, particularly those that had occurred recently. It was all still so raw, and she could remember the way she felt about Jason, but she couldn't actually feel it. The morning after she had practically ripped off his clothing-and the morning after he had been willing to rip off hers-they had run into each other here.  
  
  
  
"So, we can be friends?"  
  
"I thought we already were."  
  
"And you can take me out on your bike?"  
  
"Anytime you want. "  
  
  
  
And when was the last time she had gone on his bike? When was the last time he had offered?  
  
  
  
And Zander. A lot of the Zander stuff had happened on the docks. Her world was so small, just a tiny bubble; she and Lucky had gone to New York City, but that was about the extent. What had happened to her dreams? When had she let go of the desire to be an artist? When had she started letting other people rule her life, make her afraid to do the things she loved?  
  
  
  
Jason, under the pretense of letting her be independent, had only been stifling her.  
  
  
  
She could see that now, in the clear, remorseless light of day. It seemed so clear. He would always be one of the people she cared about the most, one of her best friends, just like Lucky, and maybe one day, they would rebuild that friendship, but there was no place for Jason Morgan in her life. Even if she had done all she could to convince him otherwise.  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth?" she heard, and she jumped, hoping, praying it was Ric. She looked up to see Nikolas standing on the stairs leading down to the dock. Her heart could resume its normal pace of beating.  
  
  
  
"Oh, hi, Nikolas," she said to him.  
  
  
  
"You don't have to sound that disappointed," he joked, coming down the stairs. He had on a long trenchcoat, black leather gloves, scarf around his neck. If she squinted, she could imagine he was Ric.  
  
  
  
Don't get pathetic, she warned herself.  
  
  
  
"No, I was just-thinking," she said with a smile. "So, stranger, where have you been?"  
  
  
  
He half-grimaced as he sat down next to her and looked out past the dock, past the water, to something else. Nikolas was always looking for something bigger. She remembered him being so kind to her after Lucky disappeared, so patient.  
  
  
  
"Sometimes I dream it over and over in the same night."  
  
"Do you know where you're dancing? Are you at a party?"  
  
"I'm not sure. It's out in the open, maybe a garden. We were so happy. There's this table and I go over to it. I only look away from Lucky for one second and I turn back and he's gone. I've tried to dream it another way, but."  
  
"I'm sorry, Elizabeth."  
  
"When we dance it's so real. I can hear him breathing. I can feel his heartbeat. But why do I turn away from him? If I could only remember not to turn away."  
  
  
  
But she had turned away. From Nikolas, from Jason. All for Lucky. She wasn't going to turn away from another person because of a man who was never going to come through for her like she needed him to.  
  
  
  
"There have been some problems with Zander. Gia's been-really . . . helpful," Nikolas said to her, not looking at her. Elizabeth could see the concern on his face, not for Zander, but for Gia. Elizabeth had lost him when Gia came along, but at least he was happy. That was important to her. And Zander had once been happy-with Emily. Life had gotten in the way of that, like it had gotten in the way of most things.  
  
  
  
She didn't even bother to ask what the problems were with Zander. At this point, the only person who could help Zander was Zander himself.  
  
  
  
"You look sad, Elizabeth," Nikolas said, turning to look at her.  
  
  
  
She smiled. "I think that for the first time, I'm not sad." She stood up, pulling her bag over her shoulder. "I have to go to work, but could we- maybe we could get together sometime? For coffee?"  
  
  
  
"Yeah," he said. "I'd like that."  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
She walked out of the backroom at Kelly's towards the end of her shift, breathing easily, suddenly beginning to enjoy the day, knowing that things were looking up for her. She hadn't seen Ric all day, which worried her, but she knew that if he made plans, he would stick to them.  
  
  
  
Then jealousy reared its ugly head as she saw Ric seated at a table with none other than the formidable Carly Corinthos, head demon herself. Elizabeth sweeped by airily, putting on the pretension of not caring, not noticing.  
  
  
  
Ric didn't even notice her.  
  
  
  
It stung, as though he was supposed to be riveted to her as soon as she entered a room. As though he wasn't allowed to have female friends. He had his back to the register, and Elizabeth watched Carly, watched her smug little come-hither pout, watched as Carly put her delicate little hands on Ric's arm. Somebody was flirting, and Elizabeth was putting her money on the married woman.  
  
  
  
Then she realized something. She had no claims over Ric, nothing. And more than anything, Carly, wife of Sonny, flirting with another man was just funny. She felt herself smiling. She was going to have to tease him about it.  
  
  
  
She went to the table, pad in hand, and she smiled at Carly amiably, and she smiled at Ric as he looked up at her, that slow smile spreading across his face. "Hi," he said softly.  
  
  
  
"Hello," she chirped at both of them. "What can I get the two of you today?"  
  
  
  
Carly eyed her, clearly sensing the phoniness in her voice. Don't even try it, Elizabeth wanted to say. I perfected this back when you were trying to pass of one man's baby as another.  
  
  
  
Back when she was Lizzie Webber. She wasn't that person anymore, but she kept Lizzie kept in a safe place and brought her back out on people like Carly. And Courtney.  
  
  
  
"I'd like some hot chocolate," Ric said to her, grinning. Elizabeth couldn't help smiling.  
  
  
  
"And for you, Carly?"  
  
  
  
"A coffee," Carly snapped. "And be quick about it; we're discussing important issues here."  
  
  
  
Elizabeth didn't bother to comment about what coffee had to do with the discussion of important issues. She just smiled at Ric and turned away from the table.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Courtney came in for the shift changeover, and as Elizabeth saw her come in the door, blond hair flying behind her, she pulled off her apron and set it on the counter. She wasn't about to give the girl a chance to back out of her shift.  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth, I have a-" she immediately started, but Elizabeth cut her off with a wave of her hand.  
  
  
  
"Don't try it. I have plans," she interrupted. She didn't even know if that was true at this point. Ric was still seated at the table with Carly, engrossed in some obviously very interesting conversation, and he hadn't even talked to her. The most contact they had was when his hand had brushed hers as he took the hot chocolate from her.  
  
  
  
She wondered if he noticed that she had forgotten to put a band-aid on.  
  
  
  
"But the trial-" Courtney tried again, but Elizabeth was not going to be swayed.  
  
  
  
"Listen, you want to be Jason's girlfriend, you have to take a lesson from Carly over there. Your being at the trial is only going to cause problems. And working for a couple of seconds is not going to kill you, okay?"  
  
  
  
Courtney stopped completely and looked at Elizabeth with something in her eyes, something akin to respect, but it may have been closer to unabashed hatred. That was fine by Elizabeth. Somehow, she would find a way to go on without Courtney Quartermaine in her life. Courtney, the poor man's Carly.  
  
  
  
"Fine," Courtney almost snapped, the Barbie-mask almost slipping.  
  
  
  
Elizabeth just blinked at her, unfazed. She turned and went into the back to get her belongings; if Ric wanted to do something, he would have to figure out how to get in touch with her. As she came out of the back, jacket and bag in tow, she stopped as she saw Ric at the counter, two mugs in hand, one that had formerly held coffee, and the other that had been home to hot chocolate.  
  
  
  
She couldn't help smiling.  
  
  
  
"I was helping," he told her. "I didn't want to risk you cutting your hand again."  
  
  
  
"I think I could have handled two mugs," she said, smiling.  
  
  
  
He grinned, and he said, "Well, I noticed you didn't put a band-aid on. You told me you were going to."  
  
  
  
"I was being a rebel. I was daring infection to come."  
  
  
  
She could feel the coolness of Courtney's gaze on her, and she didn't care. Let her tell Jason what she would. Let her tell Jason that she was a slut, that she was using Ric to get back at them.  
  
  
  
Jason, who had been her friend before he had been anything else, would know better.  
  
  
  
And it didn't matter anyway. This wasn't about Jason and Elizabeth. This wasn't about Courtney and Jason. This wasn't about Courtney and Elizabeth.  
  
  
  
It was only about Ric and Elizabeth.  
  
  
  
"So that was cozy over there," she said to Ric, smiling. "I could definitely feel the heat from the table."  
  
  
  
"Oh, right," he said. "Because I find mobster's wives really attractive. Especially cold, vicious ones."  
  
  
  
"Well, you never know. I don't know you all that well, and although I thought you were a person with good taste, I could have been wrong," she teased him.  
  
  
  
"I think I have excellent taste," he said, that grin at the corner of his lips.  
  
  
  
"The jury's still out on that one."  
  
  
  
They just looked at each other for a minute, smiling, but their reverie was interrupted by Courtney pushing past her. Ric looked at the blonde, and then he looked back at Elizabeth. "Do you suppose she has some pent-up aggressions?"  
  
  
  
"I think she has some pent-up deep-rooted mental problems," she replied, chuckling. "So what were you and Carly talking about for so long?"  
  
  
  
"Do you want to see?" he asked her.  
  
  
  
Her heart suddenly began beating. You've gotta stop, Elizabeth, she told herself. It's like you're . . . .  
  
  
  
She didn't let her brain go there.  
  
  
  
"See what?"  
  
  
  
"What we were talking about. Come on, it's right downstairs."  
  
  
  
He put out his hand for her to take, and she looked down at it and then she looked up at him. She felt vulnerable with him, but at the same time, she felt empowered. He wouldn't hurt her, she knew, not intentionally. But wasn't that always the story.  
  
  
  
Take a chance, Elizabeth.  
  
  
  
And she did. She placed her pale hand into his, and he lead her around the counter, and they headed into the basement of Kelly's.  
  
  
  
To be continued . . .  
  
"'cause I'm fragile when I hear your name  
  
Fragile when you call  
  
This could be the nearest thing to love  
  
And I'm fragile when I hear you speak  
  
Fragile feeling small  
  
This could be the closest thing to love."  
  
-- 'Fragile' by Kylie Minogue 


	3. part 3: in your eyes

song  
  
part 3: 'In Your Eyes'  
  
Spoilers: Speculations on the spoilers for this upcoming week.  
  
Author's Note: This is what happens where you go to a college where the answer to 'How many Mary Washington College students does it take to screw in a lightbulb?' is 'The entire student body, because there's nothing better to do on the weekends.'  
  
Feedback: Pretty, pretty please! It's hard to write more when I don't know what people want to see!  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
There was a bad, sick feeling in her stomach. It was the feeling she had just before she had lost Lucky, in essence, forever. She wasn't psychic, she just trusted her instincts.  
  
  
  
She looked back at Courtney, who watched her as she followed Ric towards the stairs that lead to the basement. He looked back at her, and she looked back at Courtney. It wasn't Courtney, though. Courtney was the least of her concerns. There was a man seated in the corner, his face obscured by a hat. He read a newspaper, had a cup of coffee in front of him that Courtney had set there. He wasn't bothering anyone, was unassuming, probably wearing a hat because he was bald or something, but her alarms were going off nevertheless.  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth?" Ric asked, and she glanced at him and then shook her head. "You okay?" he asked her, and she just smiled.  
  
  
  
"I think I'm seeing ghosts," she told him flippantly, and then she followed him down the stairs. It's probably just nerves, she told herself. Her heart was certainly pounding, her pulse going a mile a minute, her palms growing sweaty. "What's down here? Dead bodies?" she joked.  
  
  
  
"Only a couple," he joked back. "But we have to get rid of them because of the smell. It wasn't quite the ambiance that Carly wanted."  
  
  
  
"Carly wanted ambiance? For what?"  
  
  
  
"For her club," Ric told her, smiling up at her as he descended the stairs. In this light, he was even more gorgeous than usual, his jaw tighter, his eyes darker, more intense.  
  
  
  
The darkness reminded her of something, of how she had put herself in danger for other people. It was almost suffocating; no windows, no real lighting, just a couple of lazily hung lights on battered chains with faulty wires. Why was she remembering this now?  
  
  
  
"She has a club?" Elizabeth asked, recalling that information from somewhere. She had probably been told that. She remembered the bat, the nightlight, Zander, Jason, Sonny, the fear, the lack of air, the tombs, the darkness. She had a lot of demons.  
  
  
  
"Anybody home? You all right?"  
  
"No. No, I don't know, I feel... Help! Somebody help me! He's got me captive! Help me! Help!"  
  
"Yell all you want! Nobody can hear you. The last member of the Quinn family died in 1952. Nobody ever comes around."  
  
"If you're trying to scare me, it isn't working."  
  
  
  
"What's the matter?" Ric asked softly, and she jumped, startled.  
  
  
  
"Nothing," she answered just as softly.  
  
  
  
"If you don't talk to me about it, I can't do anything to help."  
  
  
  
She thought about it a moment. It was valid. He had gone down the steps already, and she followed slowly, taking each step gingerly, afraid of an attacker jumping out of a corner. Could she count on Ric to protect her? Or would he be the cause?  
  
  
  
"What are you looking at me like that for?" he asked, half-teasing, half- serious.  
  
  
  
"I-a couple of months ago, I was kidnapped. They wanted to use me to get to Jason Morgan." She didn't look at him, couldn't, not at first, was afraid because of how silly it sounded, but then she met his eyes. He was looking at her not with judging eyes, not with malicious eyes, but with kind, gentle eyes. "They put me in a tomb," she said, trying to play it off as though that sort of thing happened to everyone, even though she knew it didn't. Not really. "This just-reminded me of it."  
  
  
  
He bit his lip and looked around him at the basement. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I had no idea."  
  
  
  
"Of course you didn't. I didn't expect you to."  
  
  
  
"Do you want to leave? We can go. Give me the word."  
  
  
  
She shook her head. She wasn't going to let her fear be debilitating. "I'm a big girl. I was just startled."  
  
  
  
"Okay," he replied.  
  
  
  
He had cared. She was surprised. He had cared that she was bothered by this place. She went and walked past him, into the place where Carly's club would be, and she looked around her. It was nice, she decided. She could paint here, if they got up all the dirt and dust and figured a way to get fresh air into the room. And music. It needed music.  
  
  
  
"What do you think?" he asked her, watching her with amused eyes. He leaned against the frame of the door, just watching. Watching and waiting patiently.  
  
  
  
"I think it needs a good vacuum job."  
  
  
  
"Are you volunteering?"  
  
  
  
"No, thank you," she replied, laughing. "After working my butt off at Kelly's, I'm not about to help Carly out."  
  
  
  
"I can understand that. Anything other comments?"  
  
  
  
"Well, better lighting. And a new floor. Is it a dance club?"  
  
  
  
He began to move towards her, and she waited for him to approach her, but he went around her to the counter, and he ran a finger along the dirty surface. "I'm not positive, but I believe she wants space for people to dance, yes."  
  
  
  
She turned to look at him, and he looked at her. They just looked at each other, their eyes locked in silence. "Well, she needs music if she wants people to dance."  
  
  
  
"You don't need music to dance," he scoffed, grinning.  
  
  
  
"I beg to differ."  
  
  
  
"You do, do you?"  
  
  
  
"I absolutely do."  
  
  
  
"Oh, really?" he asked, cocking his eyebrow at her. Her heart started beating even faster than it had been as he moved towards her, and all anxieties about the darkness of the club, its reminiscence of the tomb, were gone. His hands moved to her hips, and he pulled her gently towards him, and she could feel the heat between them.  
  
  
  
What am I getting myself into? she thought, terrified and excited and thrilled all at once, but mostly terrified. She couldn't stop the smile on her face, the grin that crawled from ear to ear. I can't believe this is happening to me, she thought. I can't believe this. He's . . . everything I've ever wanted in a man. Sophisticated, intelligent, suave, charismatic, confident, gorgeous, sensitive, caring. There were a hundred thousand adjectives in the English language, and almost none could do him or that moment justice.  
  
  
  
"Are we dancing here?" she teased him. "Because I'm not really seeing how this is dancing."  
  
  
  
"Well, we're not dancing yet," he sighed, mock-annoyed. "I was trying to ease you into it."  
  
  
  
"I don't hear any music."  
  
  
  
"That's a good thing. I may have had to have you committed if you had heard music."  
  
  
  
"Now you're just harassing me."  
  
  
  
He just grinned down at her and pulled her even closer to him. One hand stayed on her hip, and the other pulled her hand into his. He began to move to some imaginary rhythm, and she found herself forgetting that there was no music.  
  
  
  
She found herself forgetting about everything. Jason, Lucky, Zander, Courtney, all of it. There was only her and the man who had his arms around her. "This is nice," she murmured.  
  
  
  
"You didn't trust me."  
  
  
  
"I trusted you. Even when I thought it was a bad idea."  
  
  
  
He just looked at her. There was never any other place than this. This was where she belonged, in his arms, bickering with him, teasing him, talking with him.  
  
  
  
Just kiss him, Elizabeth. That's what he's asking you to do. Just kiss him.  
  
  
  
She felt his hand splayed against the small of her back, and there was something about it that was possessive, and it empowered her, gave her the strength to be completely and totally herself. If she had to fight for this one, she was going to. No matter what. She wasn't going to let this escape her grasp.  
  
  
  
"Tell me something about you," she said to him softly. She could smell him, breathe in his wonderful, masculine aroma, a mixture of deodorant, aftershave, and his own lovely smell. She hoped that her clothing would smell like him after this.  
  
  
  
"Like what?" he asked, and she thought she felt him pull her even closer to him. They were practically breathing the same air.  
  
  
  
"Like . . . " Thousand dollar question, Elizabeth. "Girlfriends? What about them?"  
  
  
  
"Do you want to know about the dead ex-wife or the current mistress?" he teased, grinning at her, brown eyes glinting.  
  
  
  
"Do you see me laughing?"  
  
  
  
He tried to stifle his smile, but it didn't seem to work for him. "Okay, okay. There . . . there was a woman. But she was a part of another life."  
  
  
  
"Did you love her?"  
  
  
  
He looked away from her, the smile falling from his face. "I think I was another person then. And that person was in love with her, I think. But I'm a different person now, and she doesn't belong in this life. Or with me." They both fell silent, the air between them still but churning nevertheless with the unsaid tension. "And you? Boyfriends?"  
  
  
  
"The last one was . . . a miserable failure."  
  
  
  
"Anyone I know?"  
  
  
  
She dropped her head, not looking at him. She didn't want to see his reaction, didn't want to know what he thought about Jason. "Actually, yes." She thought she felt his arms tense around her.  
  
  
  
"Who is it? Don't tell me it's-"  
  
  
  
"Jason Morgan."  
  
  
  
"Ah. I understand now."  
  
  
  
"You understand?" she asked, confused.  
  
  
  
He dropped the hand that he was holding and put his fingers under her chin, tilting her head to face him. She could feel her cheeks burning, and she wondered if it was because of him or because of the talk about Jason. He let go of her chin and brushed her cheek with his fingers. "You deserve incomparably better."  
  
  
  
"Any suggestions?" she asked.  
  
  
  
"I might have one."  
  
  
  
He made no move to kiss her, even though they were so close that all he had to do was move slightly forward and their lips would have been touching. Instead, he continued stroking her cheek and looking at her.  
  
  
  
Kiss him, she told herself.  
  
  
  
Kiss him, damn you. If you don't do this, I'm never talking to you ever again.  
  
  
  
She thought about Lucky. She thought about Jason. She thought about Zander. And then she stopped thinking about them. She started thinking about herself. What she wanted. What she needed. What her heart was telling her to do.  
  
  
  
"Oh, really?" she murmured, and before he could answer, she leaned forward and kissed him.  
  
  
  
It wasn't fair that it was the best kiss she had ever had. She hadn't been expecting that, and she didn't know how to handle that. He tasted like cinnamon and toothpaste. He hesitated at first, and then his arms crept around her, and he responded. They let the unsaid tensions, the tenderness, the gentleness, the real emotions, the feelings between them expand, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers creeping into his hair.  
  
  
  
And then they were interrupted.  
  
  
  
A ringing.  
  
  
  
She thought she was imagining it, but he groaned into her mouth and pulled away from her, murmuring, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I am so sorry."  
  
  
  
"It's okay," she said, laughing. Her cheeks were flushed, her face burning. What was this?  
  
  
  
It was crazy, and it felt so good.  
  
  
  
An arm still around her, he reached into the inside pocket of his suit and pulled out his phone. He looked at the tiny screen, and then he looked at her. He looked defeated, disappointed, distraught. "I have to go. There's- an emergency."  
  
  
  
"Okay, go," she told him. He looked at her again and made a low, guttural noise in the back of his throat.  
  
  
  
"I'll be back," he said earnestly. "I promise."  
  
  
  
"I already told you." She put her index finger to her lips and then pressed the finger against his. "I trust you."  
  
  
  
He sighed and then turned and went, and she watched him go, happy for the first time in a long time.  
  
  
  
But the sick feeling in her stomach had returned.  
  
  
  
To be continued . . .  
  
  
  
"Destiny has a funny way  
  
When it comes and takes all your cares away  
  
I can't think of a single thing  
  
Other than what a beautiful state I'm in."  
  
  
  
-- 'In Your Eyes' by Kylie Minogue 


	4. part 4: that particular time

song  
  
  
  
part 4: that particular time  
  
  
  
Spoilers: I don't even know at this point.  
  
  
  
Author's note: Kind of winging it, kind of have a plan. There's an old face, but it's not the last old face. Look for more surprises, and lots more LiRic.  
  
  
  
Rating: Still just PG.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
She found herself painting again, painting like she hadn't been able to paint in a very long time. Canvases upon canvases had been filled with emotions like love and anger and pride and jealousy, colors burst from the two-dimensional object; she could finally feel again, finally for the first time since her Lucky had been lost in the fire.  
  
  
  
Her own emotions had been a mystery to her; she had put them away, locked them in a safe little box. It was like she had been waiting. For him. Like Lucky had been a precursor to Ric.  
  
  
  
They had danced to no music.  
  
  
  
Once upon a time, she and Lucky had danced to no music, and he had sung for her. She had been so young then, so inexperienced, so in need of someone to rescue her. That was what Lucky had been. He changed; he had changed so much from the boy she had first fallen in love with.  
  
  
  
Someone had to be her first love. Someone else had to be her last.  
  
  
  
She was getting in over her head.  
  
  
  
The studio smelled of paint, oil and acrylic. She finished canvas after canvas with a flair, taking it off her easel and tossing it on the ground. She hadn't heard from Ric, and she wondered what that meant. Had she made the wrong move in making the first move?  
  
  
  
Was that it? Was he gone? One kiss, and he bailed? The phone call had been legit, unless he had had Carly positioned at the top of the stairs to phone him in case something started happening.  
  
  
  
She knew none of that was true. You're just feeling . . . insecure, she told herself.  
  
  
  
And then another voice in her head, the Voice of Reason, chirped, Just because you're paranoid it doesn't mean they're not out to get you. She was scared because she cared, because this was important to her.  
  
  
  
Because he was important to her.  
  
  
  
Where had he gone that was so important? Emergency phone call from Carly? From Sonny? Jason? Brenda? Or from someone else, from someone from the past? Someone who had nothing to do with her?  
  
  
  
"Gah," she said aloud and slapped another burst of red paint onto the canvas. In spite of the anger, the hurt, the fear, she felt something else. She felt completely . . . alive. More so than with Jason, because Jason had never made her this angry; she had never been this afraid about and for Jason.  
  
  
  
What if something more sinister was at play?  
  
  
  
A man in Kelly's had looked at her over his newspaper, and she had thought she recognized him. He had leered at her with his eyes alone, and she was terrified of what it meant that she had seen him.  
  
  
  
She couldn't give him a name, wouldn't, because if she gave him a name, he would be real-instead of the ghost inside her head.  
  
  
  
She finally set her paintbrush down, placing it gingerly on the tray, letting go of the object that she had chosen for her weapon. There was a knock at the door, and her heart began to pound, as though it could possibly be Ric. "Who is it?" she called, not intending to let anyone in.  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth?" came the muffled reply.  
  
  
  
No, not Ric.  
  
  
  
Jason.  
  
  
  
"What do you want?" she called back, still not intending to open the door for him.  
  
  
  
"Can I come in?"  
  
  
  
"No," she yelled to him, and she went into the bathroom, trying to ignore him. There was nothing in her that wanted to see him, to talk to him, to hear anything that he had to say. She was tired of him, tired of his deceit, of Courtney's deceit, tired of him telling her he wanted to be with her and then taking it back. There was a time when she had thought that she wanted to be with him, but now she knew that that would be settling.  
  
  
  
She wasn't going to settle, not after last night. She couldn't possibly. She couldn't even think straight. She needed to have something better than Jason Morgan, and that something was Ric Lansing. Too bad he was suddenly incommunicado. She wished she had his cell-phone number, just to see if he was okay, to see if he was alive.  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth-" Jason started again, but she had already gone to the door and unlocked it. She left it that way, not opening it. If he wanted to come in, he would have to open it himself.  
  
  
  
And he did.  
  
  
  
"What is your problem?" she asked him as he almost hurled open the door. She turned to look at him, her hands on her hips, waiting expectantly for some lame explanation.  
  
  
  
He looked tired, angry, his eyes bright blue against the dark gray of his t- shirt. "Are you okay?" he asked her.  
  
  
  
"I'm fine. Do I look like I'm not okay?"  
  
  
  
"When was the last time you saw Ric Lansing?"  
  
  
  
She felt her heart crawl into her throat, preparing to swan dive out of her mouth, waiting for whatever Jason was about to say to her. "Last night," she told him.  
  
  
  
"Did you talk to him?"  
  
  
  
"Um, yes."  
  
  
  
"Did he say anything about where he was going?"  
  
  
  
"What is this about, Jason?"  
  
  
  
He stopped and he blinked at her, an expression she knew all too well. "I can't tell you. But you're at risk."  
  
  
  
"I've been at risk all along. I'm not really surprised. Do you have any new information for me?" She was struggling to maintain her cool, to not let Jason see how much anything involving Ric affected her.  
  
  
  
He narrowed his eyes at her. "I know you're hurting."  
  
  
  
"Thank you for acknowledging that," she said, finally able to turn away from him. She moved to the window, trying to ignore him but knowing that he was the only one who would give her information about Ric.  
  
  
  
"I never meant to hurt you."  
  
  
  
"But you did. And you know what? I'm getting over it. And that's the end of the story. Tell me what you came here to tell me, and then please leave."  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth-"  
  
  
  
"Jason, please," she said, turning to look at him. "If you ever cared about me, just do it." It was a low blow and she knew it, but it was a sure way to get information about Ric.  
  
  
  
"He's in the hospital," Jason told her, watching her, waiting for a reaction.  
  
  
  
She gave him one.  
  
  
  
"What? Is he okay? What happened? Is he hurt?" she cried, panicking immediately.  
  
  
  
"You can't go to the hospital, Elizabeth," Jason said to her, but she was already grabbing her jacket and her bag to rush to the hospital.  
  
  
  
"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do," she snapped at him.  
  
  
  
"Sonny and I are concerned about your safety."  
  
  
  
"I'm a big girl now, Jason. And please tell Sonny that, too." And it was true. She was no longer the girl that Sonny had held during the fire she thought had killed Lucky.  
  
  
  
He moved to block the doorway from her, and she glared up at him. "We don't know what's going on, Elizabeth."  
  
  
  
"Go back to Courtney," she hissed at him. "Go offer your 'services' to someone who can't take care of herself." He tensed his arm to keep her from leaving, but she tossed him a look and he moved. She didn't have time for Jason Morgan.  
  
  
  
That was the first time in her life that she could ever think that and be completely honest about it. She passed by him out into the hallway.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
She pulled open the curtain with tender fingers, her pulse racing. Her mind had allowed her so many terrible images on her way to the hospital, visions of him lying in bed dead, blown to pieces by a bomb like Kristina or burned in a fire like Lucky had supposedly been, drowned off the dock, shot, hung, anything.  
  
  
  
Instead, what she found was Ric, buttoning up his baby-blue shirt gingerly. She saw the glimpse of a white bandage around his torso, and her cheeks felt flush. "I'm ready to go-" he began, not looking at her. When she didn't answer, he looked up at her.  
  
  
  
She was absolutely speechless. He looked so worn, so tired, his cheeks sallow, his skin tone dull. He was weak; she wanted to help him, but she didn't have any idea what to do. She wanted to know what happened, but she was in so deep.  
  
  
  
"Why are you here?" he asked her, and he sounded like his mouth was completely dry.  
  
  
  
I came for you, she tried to say, but she couldn't say anything.  
  
  
  
"I didn't want you here," he said to her. "I sent Morgan to make sure that you were safe. If we're seen together-" He cried out as he tried to stand up, and she rushed to him, offering her support, literally and emotionally. "Elizabeth, if they see us together, you could be in danger."  
  
  
  
Nevertheless, he put his arm around her shoulder and pulled him to her, using her as a crutch. And still, she couldn't say anything. She could only wrap her arm around his waist and help him to sit down on the hospital bed again.  
  
  
  
"You're not ready to leave," she finally managed to whisper to him. "You have to stay here and recover."  
  
  
  
"I have too much to do," he protested, but he made no move to stand up again.  
  
  
  
"What happened?" she murmured, barely more than a whisper. She was so scared for him, scared of what had been done to him. She looked at him, at the line of his jaw, at the aquiline nose. He looked directly ahead, in full profile to her, and he just shook his head. "I can't help you if you don't tell me," she said to him, an echo of what he had said to her the night before.  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth," he said, turning to look at her. His face twisted into a grimace as his side caused him pain, and she felt stricken, the blood sinking from his face. "You're the only person in this town that I care about. I can't afford-"  
  
  
  
"I can take care of myself, okay? Don't worry about me. I'm trying to take care of you here."  
  
  
  
His face broke into a smile, and she was so relieved to see that. She would have done anything to wipe the pain from his side. She just had to know what had happened.  
  
  
  
"I came out of Kelly's last night because of that phone call. Then someone said my name, and I turned to face them-and that's when I got this." He gestured to his side. "I swear it must have been a Bowie knife," he joked, and she tried to smile-for his sake.  
  
  
  
"Who would do this to you?"  
  
  
  
"Who wouldn't?"  
  
  
  
"Does Sonny know?"  
  
  
  
"Carly was the one who found me."  
  
  
  
She thought of the man in Kelly's the night before, hidden behind his newspaper. She didn't understand how he, if he was who she thought he was, how he played a part in any of this.  
  
  
  
"And Jason?"  
  
  
  
"I knew that he would want you safe. He was supposed to get you away from Port Charles."  
  
  
  
"Away?"  
  
  
  
"There was a man in South America who worked for Luis Alcazar. He's here now, in Port Charles. That's why-that's why-" He grimaced again, and Elizabeth reached out for his hand and clutched it in her own. "That's why I'm here. This man wants to destroy everyone in Port Charles, exact some sort of revenge on people who have apparently done him wrong. I couldn't let that happen."  
  
  
  
"What do you mean?" she asked softly.  
  
  
  
"I worked for Alcazar. In South America. When I was a different person. This man had me imprisoned, and there I had a great deal of time to think. And I knew that I couldn't let him destroy innocent people, no matter how I may or may not have felt towards Alcazar." He didn't look at her as though he was afraid of her judgment, but all she had was understanding for him.  
  
  
  
"Hey, look at me," she said to him, putting her fingers to his chin gently and turning his head to look at her. "I understand," she told him. "I do. You don't have to hide anything from me."  
  
  
  
He looked down at his lap, and she just gazed at him, feeling more compassion towards this man than she had ever felt for anyone else in her life. He was sharing with her, opening up to her, and she valued that so much.  
  
  
  
"We have to stop him, Elizabeth. I know I sound like a deluded vigilante, but this man is insane. He will hurt anyone."  
  
  
  
"We will," she assured him, gently helping him stand up again, putting her hand against his tight torso. "Just tell me his name," she whispered.  
  
  
  
She hoped, prayed that it wouldn't be the name she had kept herself from thinking. She needed him not to say it, because she needed the man from Kelly's not to be real.  
  
  
  
But Ric said the name anyway.  
  
  
  
"Faison," he told her quietly. "Cesar Faison."  
  
  
  
To be continued . . .  
  
  
  
  
  
"At that particular time love had challenged me to stay  
  
At that particular moment I knew not run away again  
  
That particular month I was ready to investigate with you  
  
At that particular time."  
  
  
  
-- 'That Particular Time' by Alanis Morisette 


	5. part 5: kickstart

song  
  
part 5: kickstart  
  
Spoilers: I don't even know at this point.  
  
Author's note: Kind of winging it, kind of have a plan. There's an old face, but it's not the last old face. Look for more surprises, and lots more LiRic. Warning: I dislike Courtney strongly. Be prepared.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own them, yadayadayada.  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Feedback: Please! Even suggestions where you'd like the storyline to go!  
  
  
  
  
  
There had been no words for her to express her horror, her terror, at hearing the man's name. She had had no words, and so she had said none. She only helped Ric out of the hospital, smuggled him out, helped him as he groaned, tried not to hurt him even as he cried out. He wouldn't let her take him to her studio, because of the imminent danger, so she took him back to Kelly's, despite her reservations against it.  
  
  
  
She helped him up the stairs, and he tried to be the bigger man about it, tried to pretend like it didn't hurt, but she knew that the stitches would be tender, and he was supposed to stay in the hospital. She helped him physically, because that was all he would let her do. She helped him onto his bed, and she watched, ironically helpless as he pulled his body into the fetal position, cradling his wounded side.  
  
  
  
He drifted off to sleep, overcome by pain and exhaustion, and she sat on the bed next to him, running her fingers through his hair. She noticed the few gray hairs, probably caused by stress and the emotional anguish over the years. In his sleep, he was peaceful, even though pain must have wracked his body.  
  
  
  
She leaned down and kissed his temple gently, and then she pressed her forehead against the side of his head, feeling the gentle throb of his pulse in his temple. She lay like that for a while, cradling him in her embrace.  
  
  
  
Elizabeth Webber had let herself open up to someone again, for the first time since Lucky. His pain was causing her pain now, and she wanted to heal him, emotionally and physically.  
  
  
  
Faison.  
  
  
  
Cesar Faison.  
  
  
  
How could she handle this? That was what she always did-handled it. But how could she handle the man who had destroyed her first love?  
  
  
  
Hi. Laura asked if I wanted to say anything. And I do, if I can just figure out how. I feel so lucky go be the girl he loved. I guess what I wanted to tell you was Lucky saved my life. If you know me, you know I'm not exaggerating or trying to sound poetic. He literally picked me up off the ground from the snow and the ice, and took care of what hurt and watched over me at night. He took all my anger and my bitterness and turned it into something shining that I will always, always have. And this is why it's not right that he's gone. Someone who--who saves a life should have an extra life. More time, not less.  
  
  
  
She had asked so little out of life, and that was exactly what she had gotten. Fear had crippled her for too long, and it was time she started asking for more. Tom Baker. Helena Cassadine. And Cesar Faison. He had taken everything good and human in Lucky Spencer and thrown it away, warped it.  
  
  
  
And now he was here. In Port Charles. Trying to destroy people.  
  
  
  
She had trusted Ric, and now she felt validated. Nothing in her felt like gloating, though. Had Faison killed Alcazar then? In that one move, he had thrown the lives of many citizens of Port Charles into upheaval. Jasper Jax, Brenda Barrett, Jason, Sonny, Carly, all of them.  
  
  
  
He had stabbed Ric.  
  
  
  
She owed Cesar Faison a thing or two. Maybe Jason's bat would come in handy.  
  
  
  
She rested against him, exhausted, mentally and physically, and there she slept, the fitful dreams coming, dreams of fire and pain and tears, but it was sleep, blessed, cool sleep.  
  
  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Elizabeth awoke after Ric did; she found herself curled into her own body like he had been, covered by his heavy black wool winter coat. It smelled like him, an aroma she remembered from the previous night. Had it only been last night? It seemed so long ago.  
  
  
  
She pulled the coat around her, relishing its warmth, but a wave of panic hit her, cold and harsh, as she realized that he was no longer by her, his presence no longer assuring. She sat up with a jerk, looking around the room for any sign of him. Had he gone, left her here alone?  
  
  
  
"Ric?" she called, the panic choking her voice. She was terrified of the thought of him, wounded and alone and in pain out there, with Faison roaming the streets. She slid his coat onto her arms, the wool scratching her bare skin. He had taken her own jacket off of her, placed it over a chair just near the bed. "Ric?" she called again.  
  
  
  
The bathroom door opened, and Ric stood on the other side, rebuttoning his shirt. She caught a glance of the slightly reddened bandage around his ribs, and her heart thudded. "Elizabeth?" he asked, his eyes wide. "Is everything okay?"  
  
  
  
She couldn't control herself; she stood and went to him and wrapped her arms gingerly around him and pressed her head into his chest. "Hey," he said softly, surprised, but his arms went around her like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do.  
  
  
  
Maybe it was, she thought.  
  
  
  
"What's the matter?" he asked her, putting his hand under her chin and tipping her face to look at him. He looked haggard, and she understood that. Had he pulled some of his stitches? She should have made him stay at the hospital. What had she done? She was making him hurt more.  
  
  
  
"You're hurt," she said quietly.  
  
  
  
"That's an understatement," he scoffed, rolling his eyes.  
  
  
  
"You have to go back to the hospital. I shouldn't have let you leave."  
  
  
  
"You couldn't have stopped me. I wasn't going to stay there when you were here."  
  
  
  
Those words made her chest and cheeks burn, and she looked down at her feet. They were going so fast, but in reality, they weren't going anywhere at all.  
  
  
  
"I'm going to go see Sonny," she said to him, pulling away from him. "Maybe he'll know what to do."  
  
  
  
"Do you really believe that?"  
  
  
  
"There has to be an answer. A solution."  
  
  
  
"This man is not to be messed-"  
  
  
  
"I know him, Ric," she told him, moving away from him and pulling his coat around her, feeling as though if she couldn't have his arms around her, she was going to go for next best thing. "He's been here before."  
  
  
  
"What?"  
  
  
  
"There was a fire." She moved to the window and gazed outside, looking at the place she had known as home for so long. Port Charles. It felt like a stranger now. "My boyfriend at the time-Lucky, was in a fire. Caused by Cesar Faison. He made everyone think that Lucky was dead, but he wasn't. He had . . . videos. Cameras all over the place. He was watching me. Threatened me."  
  
  
  
Ric didn't say anything, remained silent in the doorway of the bathroom. She turned to look at him, eyes meeting eyes, his brown ones meeting her own. "He caused a lot of pain here. I can't let him do it again."  
  
  
  
"We won't let him. I promise you that, Elizabeth."  
  
  
  
"I trust you," she whispered.  
  
  
  
"I won't let you get hurt. As long as I am standing, you won't get hurt."  
  
  
  
She just looked at him, and she blinked. How many times in her life had she been promised that? How many men had told her that, and how many times had she been hurt?  
  
  
  
How many times had she believed that?  
  
  
  
Just once. This time.  
  
  
  
But she panicked as she saw the slight blood stain on his shirt, and she looked down at it and then back at him. "You have to go back to the hospital."  
  
  
  
"I'm not going, and you can't make me."  
  
  
  
"You're hurt."  
  
  
  
"I'm also the only one who knows what's going on."  
  
  
  
"That's not true."  
  
  
  
"Oh, it's not?"  
  
  
  
"I know what's going on," she told him, standing strong in her conviction. "I'm not backing down, so don't try it."  
  
  
  
He smiled at her, that beautiful smile, and he said, "You look good wearing my clothing."  
  
  
  
She forgot about the blood for a moment. "It's just your coat."  
  
  
  
"Well, you're welcome to any more of it that you want."  
  
  
  
"You better watch it. I might take you up on that offer, and then you'll suddenly find your favorite shirts missing."  
  
  
  
They were doing an awfully good job at pretending that nothing was wrong, that life was the same way it was a week ago. She bit her lip and sat down on the bed again. Slowly and carefully, he joined her. She felt the bed sink underneath his weight, and he laid back and crossed his arm over his eyes.  
  
  
  
"I never meant for this to happen," he said to her. "I'm so sorry you got involved."  
  
  
  
"I'm not," she said.  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth?" he asked.  
  
  
  
"Yes?"  
  
  
  
"You really are my guardian angel."  
  
  
  
The air fell silent between them again, not an awkward silence, just a silence. It felt right to be here with him; they shared a secret now, a secret that was incredibly important. They had to help people.  
  
  
  
"Ric?" she asked.  
  
  
  
"Yes?" he mimicked, echoing her from only moments before.  
  
  
  
"Can you do me a favor?"  
  
  
  
"Anything," he swore.  
  
  
  
"Can you . . . " Just say it, Elizabeth, she told herself. You have to start going for these things you want. "Can you kiss me? Because last time, I kissed you, and then you left, and I'm not feeling real sure about this whole thing."  
  
  
  
The bed shook with the movement of his ribs as he chuckled. He pulled himself to a sitting position, groaning, and he put his hands on her knees. "If you had held on just a couple of seconds longer, it would have been me doing the kissing," he murmured to her. They were so close that they were breathing each other's air.  
  
  
  
"Doesn't count. I still was the one who kissed you."  
  
  
  
"That's not fair," he teased, and he leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth.  
  
  
  
"That doesn't count either," she joked. "That was not a kiss."  
  
  
  
"Mmmhmm," he murmured, and he kissed her eyelid.  
  
  
  
"Have you never kissed anyone before?"  
  
  
  
"Does foreplay mean nothing to you?" he whispered into her ear, and she could feel the heat of his breath against her neck.  
  
  
  
"I just asked you to kiss me," she whispered back, a smile on her face.  
  
  
  
There was nothing more right than being with him, than being with him here and now, or wherever he was.  
  
  
  
"Okay, okay," he mock-protested. He turned his head, and his lips were brushing hers as he said, "Did anyone ever tell you that you're pushy?"  
  
  
  
She didn't even get to answer, because his lips were on hers, exploring. She changed her mind about her first kiss with him being the best kiss ever. This one eclipsed it. He pulled away from her, grinning.  
  
  
  
"Yes," she answered, a little breathless.  
  
  
  
"Yes?" he asked.  
  
  
  
"People tell me I'm pushy."  
  
  
  
"We'll go," he said, burying his head in her shoulder.  
  
  
  
"We'll go where?" she asked him.  
  
  
  
"To Sonny. We'll get his help."  
  
  
  
To be continued . . .  
  
  
  
"We need a kick start  
  
We need a quick solution  
  
We need a next step  
  
If we're really going  
  
If we're really going"  
  
  
  
-- 'Kick Start' by Lisa Loeb 


	6. part 6: my dark life

song  
  
  
  
part 6: my dark life  
  
  
  
Spoilers: I don't even know at this point.  
  
  
  
Author's note: Kind of winging it, kind of have a plan. There's an old face, but it's not the last old face. Look for more surprises, and lots more LiRic. Warning: I dislike Courtney strongly. Be prepared.  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own them, yadayadayada.  
  
  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
  
  
Feedback: Please! Even suggestions where you'd like the storyline to go!  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
There was a certain sense of apprehension as Elizabeth Webber went up on the elevator to the Penthouse. She was afraid of a great many things-seeing Jason. Seeing Courtney. Or even worse, seeing Courtney and Jason. Ric had fallen asleep, and she had left him in his apartment.  
  
  
  
She just couldn't let him go anywhere, not like that. He was so innocent in his sleep, so unafraid, so unvarnished, so unworried. He would be angry, but that was a chance she was willing to take. She couldn't stand to see him in pain, and because of that, she would go to see Sonny Corinthos alone. Once upon a time, she and Sonny had been friends. Whatever had happened to that?  
  
  
  
Carly had happened, just like Courtney had happened.  
  
  
  
The elevator doors whirred open, and she stepped out into the hallway. The bodyguard downstairs had glanced at her and nodded and let her up. She looked down the hall to Jason's door and then she looked back to Sonny's door. Something, probably habit, made her want to go down to Jason's side of the hall and take refuge in his arms, in his familiarity.  
  
  
  
What could Sonny do, really?  
  
  
  
The answer was simple: nothing. What could anyone do? Faison was a ghost, a shadow, a madman, and anyone could be his target. Would he go after Lucky, or had that been done already? Was he finished with him?  
  
  
  
So many names coursed through her head, and she knew that Sonny would just look at her like she was a child, if he was even there at all. She began to panic, wondering why she had come at all.  
  
  
  
Then she remembered. For Ric. For everyone in Port Charles that Cesar Faison had hurt, for everyone he could hurt.  
  
  
  
She began towards the door, Sonny's door, but the bodyguard outside shook his head and said, "Mr. Corinthos isn't here, only Mrs. Corinthos."  
  
  
  
"Is Jason Morgan here?" she asked, not even thinking about it. Habit, she told herself. She wasn't about to talk to Carly, even if she could help.  
  
  
  
"Yes, he is," the bodyguard stonily replied.  
  
  
  
She started toward Jason's door, and then she stopped, thinking of something, something very important. Something that would keep her stomach contents where they belonged-in her stomach. "Is Sonny's sister here?" she asked, turning back to the bodyguard.  
  
  
  
"Why would she be here when Mr. Corinthos isn't here?" he replied.  
  
  
  
That information relieved her. It was a good question, though. If only you knew, she wanted to chuckle at the poor, clueless man. The situation didn't warrant chuckling, though. She was surprised that Jason would be there without Sonny, though. They were in the middle of a trial; shouldn't he have been preparing? Maybe he was beyond hope.  
  
  
  
She knew now, though, that Jason didn't kill Alcazar. She had always known that, though. That's what happened when people trusted other people too easily. It had to have been Faison, didn't it? Ric certainly didn't kill the man.  
  
  
  
Somewhere inside of her, there was a tiny little voice that said, 'How well do you know this guy, anyway? He certainly could have killed Alcazar.'  
  
  
  
Aw, shuddup, she told the voice. She had enough problems without suddenly becoming schizophrenic. She walked to Jason's door, and her hand hesitated before falling heavily against the wood of the door.  
  
  
  
It didn't take him long to answer. His eyes registered surprise, only at first, and then they switched into caring-mode. She wondered vaguely if he used that facial expression with Courtney, too. Courtney probably needed to be saved a lot more.  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth, what is it?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"  
  
  
  
"I know how we can prove that you didn't kill Alcazar," she told him, looking at him, his pretty blue eyes, and she could kind of remember how she felt about him, why she felt that way.  
  
  
  
"I don't want you getting involved in this," he told her with a sigh.  
  
  
  
"I'm already in way too deep, and it has nothing to do with you."  
  
  
  
"Lansing?" It was only the one word, but in that word, Elizabeth could hear hatred, something she didn't hear from Jason's lips very often. He was so controlled, so calm, so collected. He rarely let his emotions show; or maybe it was that he let all of his emotions show, and he just had none to share.  
  
  
  
"Jason, do you ever think about what might have happened if we had fought for each other?" she asked him.  
  
  
  
"Jason, do you ever think about what might have happened if I had ridden away with you that day?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because you didn't."  
  
  
  
"No," he answered honestly.  
  
  
  
"Because we didn't, right?" He didn't answer her, just blinked, and she said, "Maybe someday, Jason. But you're not who you used to be. Something - someone - changed you. I don't understand how or why, and I'm not really going to think about it right now."  
  
  
  
"He's dangerous."  
  
  
  
"And you're not?" As she had expected, he had no answer for her.  
  
  
  
"He's not who he says he is."  
  
  
  
"I'm not talking about him. I'm talking about how you and Brenda can beat this."  
  
  
  
"I'm listening." He had made no move to let her into his apartment, and she could see his muscles tense underneath his t-shirt, and she wondered if Courtney was here, hiding in his bed. It was a metaphor; he wasn't going to let her back into his apartment, and he wasn't going to let her into his heart.  
  
  
  
"Someone else did it. Hear me out-Faison. He's in town. He killed Alcazar."  
  
  
  
"Do you know this?"  
  
  
  
"No, but-"  
  
  
  
"Do you have any evidence?"  
  
  
  
"Well, no-"  
  
  
  
He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "This is not a game you're playing, Elizabeth. These are dangerous people. You could get hurt."  
  
  
  
"I understand that."  
  
  
  
"This is not Zander Smith."  
  
  
  
"Jason, why can't you accept that I'm a big girl now?" He didn't answer, because there was nothing to say. Jason wasn't going to help. She had to get someone else. "People are going to die."  
  
  
  
He sighed and looked past her, she wasn't sure to where. "I don't know how to help."  
  
  
  
"Can I just count on you, if I need you?" she asked him.  
  
  
  
"You don't have to ask."  
  
  
  
"Thank you," she murmured. She started to go, turned to leave, but he stopped her.  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth?" She didn't turn to look at him as he said, "If he hurts you, he's dead."  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
She found Ric seated in Kelly's, looking at some paperwork. He looked peaked, his skin pale, his tan faded, but he looked as though he had managed to maintain some sense of normalcy. She saw him through the window, knew that they had to pretend. She knew that better than anyone that Faison could be anywhere at any time. Who knew what he knew already?  
  
  
  
She had to find Lucky, but she had no idea where to begin.  
  
  
  
Now the mission was to resume normalcy.  
  
  
  
She was good at pretending.  
  
  
  
She opened the door of Kelly's and went in, feeling the warmth from the heater blast her in the face. She pulled her jacket around her, even though the sudden influx of heat was almost stifling. Ric looked up at her, and that familiar smile spread across his face.  
  
  
  
So maybe they were both good at pretending.  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth," he said. "Would you care to join me?" He gestured to the seat across from him, and she met his eyes; he was hiding something from her, and he had to.  
  
  
  
There could have been eyes everywhere.  
  
  
  
She sat down across from him, biting her lip to keep from bursting into tears. When had her life become this? A game? He watched her carefully over the rim of his coffee cup. They had to be careful. If Bobbie saw him here, she'd make him go right back to the hospital, and then she'd be left completely alone.  
  
  
  
The tears were going to come, tears from exhaustion, from having someone she cared about in the hospital, from dealing with the past, from being afraid for the future. "Excuse me," she murmured, and she stood up.  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth-" he started, and he caught a hold of her hand.  
  
  
  
"I'm just going to the bathroom," she whispered, and she pulled her hand out of his warm grasp, her fingers lingering on his, and then she made her way to the bathroom, almost stumbling. The fluourescent light of the bathroom was harsh on her eyes, and she immediately turned the water on in the sink and let it run until it ran hot and then cold again.  
  
  
  
She barely noticed when the door opened, just wasn't paying attention or caring. She didn't even notice someone else was in the bathroom with her until she was grabbed from behind. She tried to cry out, but his hand was immediately over her mouth, and she suddenly wished she had paid more attention when Jason was trying to teach her self-defense.  
  
  
  
"Listen to me," the man hissed in her ear, and she abruptly realized there was a knife in his hand, the blade just rubbing against her bare abdomen. She moaned as he slipped a little and the blade dug into her skin. "Leave all of this alone. Stay away from Lansing. Just stay out of it."  
  
  
  
In the mirror, she could see his figure, dark and indistinguishable. His face was masked and he was clad all in black; all she could see, the only thing she could make out, was the flash of the blade in the mirror. "Valentine's Day," he hissed in her ear. "We wouldn't want it to happen again, would we?"  
  
  
  
The shoe came off and I can't get it back on. I think I broke it. I can't get my shoe back on.  
  
  
  
She struggled against him, but it was of no use. He was bigger, he was stronger. She couldn't help it. She was the victim.  
  
  
  
This was not Cesar Faison. His voice was not the accented lilt of that man. This was someone completely different, someone who knew her past.  
  
  
  
No . . he whispered. He whispered something. I don't know what it was. I just don't, I don't get it though. I mean, if his hand wasn't over my face, why couldn't I scream? Why couldn't I say something?!  
  
  
  
"Courtney Quartermaine," he whispered to her, and the tip of the blade traced its way up her hip and underneath the hem of her shirt, and she felt the sting as the blood welled up from the wound, unbidden. "She will be the first to go. And you will be helpless, you understand?"  
  
  
  
The tears poured from her eyes and down onto the man's hand, and he chuckled into her hair. Then he nibbled at her ear, and she bucked against him, straining to get away. "Your fear only makes you more attractive to men who would . . . violate you."  
  
  
  
Her eyes met his in the mirror for just a moment, and then he released her.  
  
  
  
And just like that, he was gone.  
  
  
  
A shadow, a ghost, her imagination. An echo of the past.  
  
  
  
What had Faison done?  
  
  
  
She collapsed to the floor, to the nasty, smelly floor of the bathroom, and she lay huddled under the sink for she didn't know how long, shaking and trembling. Her thoughts made no sense to her, just flashes of images in her head, and she felt the blood at her side, staining her jeans and her shirt.  
  
  
  
Courtney.  
  
  
  
Courtney was next to go.  
  
  
  
The man had warned her.  
  
  
  
Why Courtney?  
  
  
  
Courtney.  
  
  
  
The irony.  
  
  
  
Feeling like Alice in Wonderland, she cried until she thought she would drown in her own tears. He had reduced her to the girl she had once been, a girl fumbling to put her shoes on in the park.  
  
  
  
Faison, wherever he was, knew how to hurt people. He knew how to make them suffer. He had found her Achilles' heel. A man in a bathroom attacked a girl, told her things that no one should have known about. Had it been him, the man from so many years ago?  
  
  
  
She didn't think so. She recognized the voice, but it was not his, somehow.  
  
  
  
These were the only coherent ideas she could form.  
  
  
  
Finally, after what seemed to be an age, the door opened, and she heard a tentative, "Elizabeth?"  
  
  
  
"I was getting some sun," she managed to croak to him, to Ric, who had finally come to look for her. She was trying to joke, but this time, she was no good at pretending.  
  
  
  
"Oh, my God," he murmured, and she focused on his shoes, nice, black dress shoes. She stared at them hard as though that would help her to stop the cascade of tears that battered her face and eyes. "What happened?" he asked, crouching in front of her. "Tell me, Elizabeth," he whispered, and he put his hand to her face.  
  
  
  
When she didn't answer, because she simply couldn't, he slid an arm under her knees and laced the other under her back, and he lifted her into his arms, cradling her against him. He would protect her, she knew.  
  
  
  
She felt so young, so very, very young.  
  
  
  
Elizabeth Webber had a great many demons.  
  
  
  
They were all coming back to haunt her.  
  
  
  
"Talk to me," he whispered as he pushed out of the bathroom door and carried her upstairs to his room. He struggled with the door, but only for a minute, and then he pushed inside and gently laid her down on the bed.  
  
  
  
He threatened me, she tried to tell him. He talked to me about my rape, she wanted to say. I don't know who he was, but I know him, I do, she longed to speak, but the word were not there.  
  
  
  
"Courtney," was all she managed to say. "We have to help."  
  
  
  
"Sleep," he told her as he crouched down in front of the bed. He brushed her hair back from her face with gentle hands, so careful, like she was a China doll, so breakable. He kissed her forehead with cold lips, and she realized his hands were shaking. "Just sleep," he murmured.  
  
  
  
"Courtney," she said again, and then sleep claimed her.  
  
  
  
To be continued . . .  
  
  
  
"See how the villain attracts,  
  
Envious glances from everyone.  
  
She's waitressing by day.  
  
It doesn't bring in much money now.  
  
And the strong concealed arms,  
  
Set off bells and alarms,  
  
In the strangest of locations of  
  
My dark life."  
  
  
  
-- 'My Dark Life' by Elvis Costello 


	7. part 7: hanging by a moment

song  
  
part 7: hanging by a moment  
  
  
  
Spoilers: I don't even know at this point.  
  
Author's note: Allrighty, so this part may concern some people, but I have to make you all absolutely aware that I love the character I have incriminated here, and trust me, I will redeem him/her. Also, this chapter may be the demise of Courtney Quartermaine. You know, I liked her at first, and then the whole stripper-Jason-blahblah thing happened, and I just couldn't do it.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own them, yadayadayada.  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Feedback: Please! Even suggestions where you'd like the storyline to go!  
  
*  
  
  
  
She wept and she slept, and then she awoke with a renewed energy, a nenewed determination. No one was going to get the best of her, not even someone who seemed to know her darkest secrets. The world was always a little bit brighter in the morning, even if it faded soon thereafter.  
  
  
  
Ric wasn't in the room, and she was almost thankful for that. He was her guardian angel, and out of nowhere, he had swooped in to save her from her jelly of self-pity last night. If only she could put her finger on who that man was . . . it was so close, but it was as though her brain was withholding the information from her, to save her, to protect her. This was her coping mechanism, but it wasn't helping her out. She needed a name if she was going to help Courtney.  
  
  
  
As she took a shower, she let the water scald her, so hot she thought it would peel her skin. This was what it had been like after that Valentine's Day-trying to get the stench off of her body. She was a stronger person now than she was then.  
  
  
  
And she could beat this.  
  
  
  
She wasn't going to let Courtney get hurt, not in this way, not by Faison. Everything Faison had done all along had been to hurt the people of Port Charles. He liked games, and he liked dominoes. Push one, and the rest will fall over.  
  
  
  
She got out of the shower and slid Ric's bathrobe over her shoulders, and then she went into the bedroom and sat down in a chair facing the window. She should have gotten the hell out of dodge when she had gotten the chance.  
  
  
  
"I picked it up for you when I was in Italy."  
  
"Oh, wow, Jason, this is beautiful."  
  
"It reminded me of you. I mean, the way you paint."  
  
"Oh, please, I wish. How come you never sent it?"  
  
"Well, I just -- you know, I needed to be able to see you, make sure you still want a post card from me."  
  
  
  
Jason. She had to go to Jason, tell him that Courtney was in danger. The thought of that made her want to cry. Things had been so different once; she had been ready to profess her undying love to him once upon a time. But maybe she had mistaken what she felt for him. He was the best friend she had ever had. That was important to her.  
  
  
  
Jason would take Courtney away. He would be able to protect her.  
  
  
  
"Good morning," she heard from behind her, and she couldn't help the smile that attacked her tired face. She pulled her knees to her chest and turned to look at Ric, who had two mugs in his hands. He stood in the open doorway, standing strong. Only a couple of days ago, they had been a waitress and a lawyer. Now they were . . . what?  
  
  
  
Two people who knew too much and had to do something with that knowledge.  
  
  
  
"Hi," she murmured to him, smiling.  
  
  
  
He sat down on the bed and handed her a mug. "Coffee?"  
  
  
  
"Coffee sounds like the best idea I've heard in a really long time." She took the mug from him and held the warm ceramic in her hands. "So, Mr. Lawyer," she said after she took a sip of the dark liquid. "What do you suggest we do?"  
  
  
  
"Move to a little Italian villa and drink cappuccinos all day long and pretend all of this never happened."  
  
  
  
"If only," she sighed. She realized he wasn't wearing his uniform of a suit and tie, but instead he was wearing what he wore in Kelly's that day-a white t-shirt underneath a gray sweatshirt, the zipper at the top. He looked at her with acceptance, with warm, unjudging eyes.  
  
  
  
She wanted to tell him so much what happened in the restroom the night before; she wanted to tell him about the rape, about all of it, not because she was looking for pity or affection, but because she simply wanted to. She wanted him to know about that part of her life. He didn't need to deal with that, though; she didn't need to dump it all on him. He had other things to deal with than some girl's issues about having been raped several years before.  
  
  
  
"You can tell me," he said softly, and she realized he was studying her.  
  
  
  
"How do you know I have anything to say?" she said, laughing.  
  
  
  
"You had the look on your face that people have when they're thinking 'Do I or don't I tell him'. I'm a lawyer, remember," he added with a grin.  
  
  
  
"Yes, I've heard that," she replied. "And I've also heard you're a good lawyer, although I have yet to see any proof of that."  
  
  
  
"Oooh," he said, mock-grimacing. "That one cut deep."  
  
  
  
They both stopped and looked at each other, and she could feel that familiar heat in her cheeks. So she decided to tell him-first about the bathroom, and then about the rape. She told him, and she watched as his cheeks tightened, an anger in his eyes.  
  
  
  
Then she told him about the rape, and he reached out to take her hand, just a tiny, gentle move that warmed her. This time she told it, though, she could tell it without tears. She was all cried out for one lifetime. She would save the tears for someone else.  
  
  
  
After she was finished, she took a deep breath and looked away from him; his gaze was so intense, his eyes so caring. She had never felt about anyone the way she felt about him-with the possible exception of Lucky.  
  
  
  
Lucky.  
  
  
  
Lucky needed to know that Faison was in town.  
  
  
  
Lucky. There was something odd about the thought of him.  
  
  
  
Ric took the hand he was holding and lifted it to his lips and kissed the palm softly. Then he reached for her face with his other hand, and he touched her cheek and brushed her hair away from her face. "You're one of the strongest people I know," he said to her.  
  
  
  
"No, I'm really not," she protested. He had just said to her everything she had been wanting to hear ever since Lucky died. People had said it, not in so many words, but she needed to hear it from someone like him, someone she cared about. "I get upset all the time, and I-"  
  
  
  
"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it."  
  
  
  
That stopped her. She couldn't protest anymore. They just looked at each other, and his hand was still behind her head. Suddenly, he leaned forward and kissed her, lightly, just once. Then he pulled away, not much, still so close to her that she could smell him and feel his body warmth, and he said with a grin, "Did I mention you look amazing in my robe?"  
  
  
  
"That sounded like a line," she replied, laughing. "You better watch your luck, mister-"  
  
  
  
Then she stopped as something hit her like a Mack truck.  
  
  
  
"You better be careful. You could stunt your growth."  
  
"Is there a reason you care?"  
  
"Uh uh."  
  
"Well that's too bad. What's your name?"  
  
"Lucky."  
  
"We'll see."  
  
  
  
That couldn't be the answer. It was too easy, too right in front of her. It answered too many questions, solved too many problems, made her feel so much better about so many things.  
  
  
  
But then again, the feeling of betrayal she felt was like none other.  
  
  
  
She felt like she had been punched in the stomach. She knew now why she couldn't name the man in the restroom from the night before-it was because her brain simply refused to.  
  
  
  
Lucky.  
  
  
  
"What is it?" Ric asked her.  
  
  
  
"I know who it was. I know who attacked me last night."  
  
  
  
"Who?"  
  
  
  
"Lucky," she told him softly. "It was Lucky."  
  
  
  
"What?"  
  
  
  
She explained to him the mind control and Helena, and what Faison had done to him, was still doing to him.  
  
  
  
"Do you think he's capable of hurting people?"  
  
  
  
"The Lucky I knew? No way. This Lucky?" She had to think about it, had to review the evidence before she could condemn someone she loved as much as she had loved Lucky. "Yes. Absolutely."  
  
  
  
"You're not safe here," he told her, standing up. "You have to get out of Port Charles."  
  
  
  
"I don't think so," she replied, rising to meet his height. "I know Lucky the best; I know the Lucky he once was. I'm the only one who can help him."  
  
  
  
"I don't like this."  
  
  
  
"I don't like it, either. I was in love with him, remember?" She thought of the knife in her side, of the way the blade had pranced along her hip. He hadn't cared that he was hurting her; she didn't matter to him anymore. But once upon a time, she had.  
  
  
  
The real Lucky had died in that fire. He was never coming back. Some part of her had always held out for him, but she realized that he was dead, to the world, to her, and to himself.  
  
  
  
"I have to go talk to Jason," she said quietly. "I have to tell him about Courtney. I just have to make sure that he's not going to hurt Lucky, just protect Courtney." There was a little spurt of laughter that shot out of her mouth, and she said, "I can't believe it's Courtney. Courtney. Out of everyone in Port Charles, Courtney. I'd rather save Carly."  
  
  
  
"I wouldn't," Ric said with a grin. He looked at her and then he pulled her towards him, enveloping her in his arms. "After all of this is over, what do you say we get a cup of coffee? Maybe go see a movie?" She felt him kiss the top of her head, and she smiled into his chest.  
  
  
  
"I think that's a plan. And I also think this is a good time for me to wear one of your shirts. Mine has blood all over it."  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Sonny's bodyguards were reluctant to let Ric into the elevator to head up to the Penthouse, but Elizabeth prevailed. She wasn't going up there without Ric, and she told them so. She felt conspicuous, wearing her own jeans but Ric's yellow shirt, the one he had been wearing when she had gone to check on the music coming from his room. She liked the feeling of belonging, though, as though the shirt expressed the idea that he belonged to her and she to him.  
  
  
  
It also expressed something else, something a lot less savvy and a lot more risqué. On some level, she hoped Jason wouldn't even notice. As they headed down the hallway, Ric took her hand in his own, and he squeezed it, providing his own brand of moral support. She suspected he needed some from her as well.  
  
  
  
She knocked on Jason's door, and finally he opened it, looking tired and worn, but still very much like the person who had once been her best friend. He looked at her, and then he looked at Ric, and then he looked at their joined hands.  
  
  
  
Elizabeth just didn't care. There was nothing in her that wanted to say, 'See what you missed out on?', because if Jason hadn't pushed her away so many times, if she hadn't been able to come to the conclusion that they just weren't meant to be, then she would never be standing where she was, next to Ric, her hand in his.  
  
  
  
It was funny the way the world worked.  
  
  
  
"Is everything okay?" Jason asked.  
  
  
  
"Can we come in?" Elizabeth replied.  
  
  
  
"You can," he said to her, not looking at Ric.  
  
  
  
"Oh, come on, grow up," she said, and she pushed by him into the apartment, pulling Ric along with her. She wasn't about to watch a macho pissing contest; she was only there to help Courtney. She sat down on the leather couch, a couch she knew well, and she avoided looking at the pool table, because it was just a reminder of things long ago. She made Ric sit down next to her, and she waited for Jason to close the door.  
  
  
  
"This is about Courtney," she said to him.  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth, I thought we-"  
  
  
  
"Jason, look at me. Do I look like I came here to have a fight?" His blue eyes focused on her, and he stared at her, hard, for just a moment, and then he shook his head. "I was attacked in the bathroom at Kelly's last night," she told him, and she quickly slid over the words, because she knew how he would react. "And the man who attacked me threatened Courtney."  
  
  
  
Jason sat down and looked at her. "Are you okay?" he asked.  
  
  
  
"I'm fine," she told him, "but we need to-"  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth," he warned.  
  
  
  
"Jason, I've been better, but I've been worse. This isn't about me-"  
  
  
  
"Who was it?" he asked her.  
  
  
  
"It was . . . " she started, but she couldn't bring herself to tell Jason. She looked at Ric, and he squeezed her hand again. "It was Lucky," she said softly. "Lucky. But I don't think he'd be the one-"  
  
  
  
She was cut off by the ringing of a cellphone. She looked at Ric, who looked at Jason. Jason pulled his phone out of his pocket and answered it. "What?" he said.  
  
  
  
The time seemed to stretch forever.  
  
  
  
Elizabeth knew what the phone call was about before he had even answered it.  
  
  
  
They were too late. She should have stayed up the night before, should have gone to Jason immediately.  
  
  
  
Jason's eyes were fixated on her, and he made some mumbling sounds, and then after an eternity, he hung up the phone. No one said anything for the longest time, and the finally, Jason spoke, confirming her fears. "That was Sonny. Courtney's in the morgue."  
  
  
  
Too late. They were way too late.  
  
  
  
Jason stood, and Elizabeth recognized the look on his face. He was angry. Sadness was not written there, just fury. "Elizabeth-" he started, and she braced herself. When Jason got angry, he got angry. She had just never been the object of his anger. "You should have come to me last night," he said. "You could have stopped this-"  
  
  
  
"Hey," Ric said, suddenly just as angry as Jason was. "Do not blame this on her. This is not her fault."  
  
  
  
"If she had come to me last night, I could have protected Courtney."  
  
  
  
"And what if you couldn't? Would it still be her fault?"  
  
  
  
Elizabeth watched wordlessly as the two men glared at each other, and then she stood up, if only to break the silence. "I'm sorry for your loss, Jason," she said quietly. "We'll find a way to take care of this." Then she took Ric's hand in hers and lead him out of the Penthouse.  
  
  
  
To be continued . . .  
  
  
  
"Forgetting all I'm lacking  
  
Completely and complete  
  
I'll take your invitation  
  
You take all of me  
  
I'm falling even more in love with you  
  
Letting go of all I've held onto  
  
I'm standing here until you make me move  
  
I'm hanging by a moment here with you.  
  
  
  
-- 'Hanging by a Moment' by Lifehouse 


	8. part 8: nothing can come between us

song  
  
part 8: nothing can come between us  
  
Spoilers: I don't even know at this point.  
  
Author's note: For future reference, there is already a sequel to 'Song' being planned. 'Song' is the development of the relationship between Liz and Ric, and the as-yet-unnamed sequel will be the exploration of the impending triangle between Liz, Ric, and Jason. There will probably be no more than 5 more parts to 'Song'. Also, this one is shorter than the others. I'm not sure why, it just is.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own them, yadayadayada.  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Feedback: Please, I love it. I live for it, even. It makes me smile. Even if it's just a, 'Good job', I love it.  
  
  
  
  
  
There was a day of mourning for Courtney Quartermaine, at least in Elizabeth's life. She couldn't afford to spend more time than that on someone she didn't like. She felt bad for the girl's death, and she wished she could have prevented it.  
  
  
  
Maybe part of Jason had rubbed off on her. It had happened; it was done.  
  
  
  
She was grabbed out of Kelly's and stabbed to death in an alley. By Lucky?  
  
  
  
Elizabeth didn't know, couldn't say, didn't want to assume. She was sad, sad for Jason, sad for Sonny, sad for AJ, sad for all those who had cared for Courtney. She understood what it was like to lose someone you loved. Ric had gone to see Sonny, to offer his help to Brenda and Jason and to whoever else needed it.  
  
  
  
Scott Baldwin had put the trial on hold indefinitely. Brenda and Jason would not be convicted, not yet. Things were at a standstill, until Faison or Lucky moved again.  
  
  
  
She had to get to Lucky. That was the most important thing.  
  
  
  
Night was quickly approaching, and she slid her jacket over her shoulders and looked at the blank canvas she had been staring at all day long. Ric had said that he would call, but the call never came. She wanted him to be with her when she left to find Lucky, but she didn't need him, not for strength.  
  
  
  
She had strength on her own. He empowered her, gave her life, let her feel free. But strength was not something Elizabeth Webber lacked. Not now, not after everything she had been through. She just hoped her strength would hold her through what she needed to do.  
  
  
  
It would be better without him, anyway. She needed to see Lucky without Ric.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
She waited on the docks, and he came to her, just like she had expected. She sat on the bench and looked out at the water and wondered if she would ever get out of Port Charles, go to Italy like she and Jason had wanted. Maybe she would go to Italy with Ric.  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth?" she heard, and she didn't turn to look at the boy she had once loved, at the man he had been forced to become. His voice was different, his face changed, his demeanor staggering. People changed, the world changed, and most of the time, they changed on their own.  
  
  
  
Sometimes people got raped and had to change; sometimes people got kidnapped and had to change. What an interesting pair they were. The world had dealt them a cruel hand, and only one of them had made it out of the game with her shirt still on.  
  
  
  
"Hi, Lucky," she said to him, and he sat down next to her. There was no recognition from him that he had been the one to attack her in the bathroom, like he was two entirely different people. "How are you?" she asked him.  
  
  
  
"I'm-fine," he answered. "How are you?"  
  
  
  
She looked at the water, as though it would provide her answer. She could just walk away and pretend that none of this had ever happened; she could just let it go, diffuse the responsibility, tell herself that she shouldn't have to care for these people-they never seemed to care for her. But that simply wasn't the person she was.  
  
  
  
"I'm a little sore," she told him honestly.  
  
  
  
"You been working out?" he asked.  
  
  
  
"No, I was too busy getting attacked in bathrooms." She still didn't look at him, and he didn't answer, and that was what she had expected. He couldn't have had anything to say to that. There was nothing to say.  
  
  
  
"You're stronger than this, Lucky," she said softly. "Don't let him do this to you."  
  
  
  
"I-I don't know what you're talking about, Elizabeth," Lucky replied flippantly, trying to play it off, but it was too late-he had already lost the game.  
  
  
  
"You can't lie to me. You fooled me for too long."  
  
  
  
There was a pause, a deep breath of air, and then she asked the million dollar question. "Did you kill Luis Alcazar?"  
  
  
  
"No," he almost whispered.  
  
  
  
"Did you kill Courtney Quartermaine?"  
  
  
  
"No."  
  
  
  
She almost smiled, almost let that expression slide across her face, but she hadn't won, not yet. Lucky she could conquer, maybe, maybe she could if she pushed the right buttons, but Faison was another issue. "You haven't killed anyone, Lucky. You can break free of this."  
  
  
  
She saw him shake his head out of the corner of her eye.  
  
  
  
"Why Alcazar? Why Courtney?"  
  
  
  
"He gets me, he gets Luke, Bobbie, my mother, Emily, you, and Nikolas. Alcazar gets Sonny Corinthos, Brenda Barrett Morgan, Jasper Jax, and Skye Chandler. Courtney Quartermaine gets Jason Morgan, AJ Quartermaine, and Sonny Corinthos. We get you, we get Nikolas Cassadine, Zander Smith, Jason Morgan. And now, Ric Lansing." Lucky said it in a voice not his own, a voice borrowed from someone else, words stolen from some unknown place.  
  
  
  
Lucky was not his own person anymore. He belonged to Faison.  
  
  
  
"Why does he want to destroy us?"  
  
  
  
"That is what he does."  
  
  
  
"Hasn't he caused enough pain?" It was rhetorical, and Lucky took it that way. Dominoes. A chess game. You take out one, you take out all of them, Elizabeth thought. Faison was smarter than anyone gave him credit for.  
  
  
  
"We didn't know how to get to Ric. He thought that Alcazar would do it. And then he saw the way Ric was looking at you. And that answered his question."  
  
  
  
"Lucky, you're the only one who can stop him."  
  
  
  
Lucky shook his head again. "I can't stop him, Elizabeth."  
  
  
  
"Yes, you can," she insisted, turning for the first time to look at him. Sometimes, she thought she could see the Lucky she loved in him, but mostly, all she could see was aggression and fear in his eyes. "Testify against him. Tell Scott what you know-"  
  
  
  
"He'll kill everyone I've ever cared about, Elizabeth."  
  
  
  
She blinked, afraid of the tears that rested behind her eyes, and she took his cold hand in her own. "He's going to do that anyway."  
  
  
  
"I can't." He shook his head again, as though hearing voices and trying desperately to ignore them. Faison had so much control over him, and it terrified her.  
  
  
  
"Lucky, please," she begged. "I know he's watching us. I know I'm putting myself in danger. He thinks he has absolute control over you, but you're the strongest person I've ever met. He can't take that away from you unless you let him. Helena did terrible things to you. I understand that. Do this for your father, for your mother. For Nikolas, for Emily, for me. If you ever loved me, please."  
  
  
  
She didn't even know what she was asking him to do, but she needed him to do something. She stood up, letting go of his hand. She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead.  
  
  
  
And then she left him with his own thoughts.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
She knocked on the door of Ric's room, knowing that he wouldn't mind if she just walked in, but feeling the need for formalities nevertheless. The door opened, and Ric stood behind it, tired and worn like he had been the past couple of days, and she was surprised at the urgency with which he enveloped her in his arms. She felt herself sinking into him, savoring his warmth and the way they just fit together.  
  
  
  
Elizabeth Webber was falling in love, and she couldn't have liked it better.  
  
  
  
"You're safe," he murmured into her hair, and she felt herself laughing.  
  
  
  
"Of course I'm safe. Why wouldn't I be?" she asked, and she pulled back to look at him. He took her hand and lead her into the room, and she realized that Jason was sitting in the chair at the desk, facing them. His face, like Ric's, was worn and tired; she wondered why he wasn't in mourning with the rest of the people who had loved Courtney.  
  
  
  
"What is this, an intervention?" she joked, but she knew, she knew from the way Ric was holding her hand, from the way that Jason was looking at her, from the way Ric suddenly seemed to let go of an enormous amount of air as soon as he had seen her, she knew that this was much more serious.  
  
  
  
Jason held up a piece of paper, and Ric let go of her hand and sat down on the bed. "There's been a threat," Jason told her, his blue eyes bright.  
  
  
  
She grabbed the paper from him and unfolded it gingerly. For Jason and Ric to be sitting in the same room, to be dealing with each other, she knew it had to be bad. "We both got a copy of it," Ric told her.  
  
  
  
She didn't let the words attack her; she was too braced for it. 'Elizabeth Webber is the next to go,' it said, not in ransom letters and not typed, but hand-written. Faison was taunting them. He was saying that he could do anything, and no one could stop him.  
  
  
  
"This is not a big deal," she said, but she felt herself shaking anyway. Courtney had been gone so fast, dead before anyone had even seen her.  
  
  
  
And she was the next to go.  
  
  
  
Her knees and hands shook, and as she collapsed to the floor, Ric caught her and cradled her in his arms. "We'll keep you safe, Elizabeth," Jason told her. "We're not going to let anything happen to you."  
  
  
  
"I'll be fine," she tried to tell them, but the words didn't come out. She just held onto Ric for dear life, clinging to him, knowing that as long as she was in the circle of his arms, no harm would come to her.  
  
  
  
It was up to Lucky now.  
  
  
  
To be continued . . .  
  
  
  
"I always hope that you remember  
  
We'll never really learn the meaning of it all  
  
What we have is strong and tender  
  
So hold on  
  
In the middle of the madness."  
  
  
  
-- 'Nothing Can Come Between Us' by Sade 


	9. part 9: have you ever really loved a wom...

song  
  
part 9: have you really ever loved a woman?  
  
Spoilers: I don't even know at this point.  
  
Author's note: For future reference, there is already a sequel to 'Song' being planned. 'Song' is the development of the relationship between Liz and Ric, and the as-yet-unnamed sequel will be the exploration of the impending triangle between Liz, Ric, and Jason.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own them, yadayadayada.  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Feedback: Please, I love it. I live for it, even. It makes me smile. Even if it's just a, 'Good job', I love it.  
  
  
  
She began to understand, in profound and tragic ways, what it must have meant to be Jason Morgan's girl. She began to understand as well why it hadn't worked out between the two of them.  
  
  
  
He was keeping her captive, locked up in Ric's room, monitoring her at every moment, sitting by the window, watching the outside, standing by the doorframe. She was aware of his every move, his every motion, and she couldn't stand it. She could see so distinctly the differences between the two of them, now that they were trapped in the same room, watching each other, examining each other, testing each other.  
  
  
  
Ric was sometimes two people: BusinessRic and HumanRic.  
  
  
  
Jason was also sometimes two people: BusinessJason and HumanJason-but there were no real differences between the two of them. He might have looked at her a little softer when he was HumanJason, but he never tried to make a distinction between his two worlds.  
  
  
  
She was sometimes scared of Jason. She was never scared of Ric.  
  
  
  
Ric leaned on the desk, his hands shoved loosely into the pockets of his jeans, his sweater molding itself to his tight form, and he stared down at his shoes. He knew, as well as she did, that this was not the way to keep her safe. Everyone was concerned about her safety, no one more so than Elizabeth herself, but this was not the way to stop people from dying.  
  
  
  
Jason's rationalization was that if she was next to go, Faison couldn't move until he had killed her; as long as they kept her safe, no one else would die.  
  
  
  
Ric had argued with him, his eyes burning, and he would say that he couldn't keep her locked up, couldn't keep her like this, that she couldn't survive like this. She could hear them arguing, arguing for her well being. There was a possessiveness in Jason's voice, but none in Ric's. He regarded her as a human being, and Jason saw her as an object. That was not the only difference, but it was an important one.  
  
  
  
She looked up at Ric from her position by the chair, and he looked at her, and then they both looked at Jason, who spoke in hushed tones on his cell phone by the doorway. Ric understood her; she had to get out of this room.  
  
  
  
If she had been given the opportunity to go back six months and do things differently with Jason, she wouldn't have. If she had been given the opportunity to go back all those years and stay with Lucky, she wouldn't have. All she would have done, if given the opportunity, was keep Lucky alive, keep him safe, keep him sane. She would have kept people from dying as best she could.  
  
  
  
But she wouldn't have given up Ric, not for anything.  
  
  
  
In spite of it all, he made her happy. He made her feel complete. And in reality, they had only shared a handful of kisses between the first one and where they were now. A handful of psuedo-dates, flirtation-- that was what they had. And yet, it felt more real than anything she had had with Jason.  
  
  
  
After Jason got off the phone, a dull silence invaded the room, and they sat through it until Elizabeth could contain herself no longer. "Jason, I have to get out of here. You're driving me crazy."  
  
  
  
"You're not going anywhere, Elizabeth," he told her as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. The way he said her name, in that thin voice of his, made her feel so young. He was treating her like a child, and at some point, it had to stop.  
  
  
  
She stood up, almost swimming in the sweater Ric had leant her, and she put her hands on her hips, her easiest and most tangible way of asserting her power. "You can not keep me captive."  
  
  
  
"I'm not keeping you captive," Jason insisted, but they both knew the truth better than that. "I'm trying to protect you."  
  
  
  
"From what?" she cried. "The elements? I'm sorry, Jason, but sometimes people get hit by rain. I have to go to my studio and change, maybe start trying to live my life. Lucky won't hurt me."  
  
  
  
"He already did, Elizabeth." He barely paused for breath as he changed tactics. "It doesn't look like you need clothing, either."  
  
  
  
"Oh, get over it," she replied, suddenly angry with him for attacking her like that.  
  
  
  
He was jealous. The answer was right there.  
  
  
  
He had also lost the girl he was dating, and he had closed himself off, shut himself down to avoid feeling the pain. He had made himself numb, because for Jason Morgan, life was easier that way.  
  
  
  
She envied him for his ability to do that, and she pitied him for his inability to do anything else. "You are keeping the only two people who know what's going on in this room, and you're not helping anyone."  
  
  
  
"I'm helping you," was his answer.  
  
  
  
"I'm a big girl."  
  
  
  
"Then why are you making decisions that are putting you in danger?"  
  
  
  
"Like what?" she demanded.  
  
  
  
"Like getting involved with him-" Jason almost yelled at her, almost yelled in that Jason-way of his.  
  
  
  
Ric had remained silent, probably because he understood that he was dealing with two people who cared about each other, but he looked at her with those gorgeous brown eyes of his, those eyes that were completely understanding, and she found that there was no need to draw comparisons between the two men anymore.  
  
  
  
There was no comparison.  
  
  
  
One excelled in every way, and the other did not.  
  
  
  
Ric Lansing had secrets, just like Jason Morgan did, but Ric looked at her like he didn't want to keep any secrets from her, like his keeping secrets from her was all for her own sake.  
  
  
  
"Jason-" she started, but he wouldn't let her speak.  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth, that's easily the stupidest decision you could have made-"  
  
  
  
"Jason, I'm falling in love with him," she told him firmly. "Do you even know what that feels like? Or did you lose that when you lost the Quartermaine part of you?"  
  
  
  
It was a low blow. He had loved Robin, and maybe he had loved Courtney-in his own way.  
  
  
  
Then she realized what she had said. It seemed so natural to come out of her mouth, but she suddenly felt her cheeks burning, and she couldn't look at Ric, couldn't bear to see the judgment she knew awaited her in his eyes. She had gone too far, let herself fall too fast, and he wasn't supposed to know that.  
  
  
  
"I think you should leave now," Ric said to Jason, straightening himself out and rising to his full height, equal with Jason. "I'm not going to let anything happen to her. So just leave. You're not welcome here."  
  
  
  
All she could do was look at Jason, and Jason only looked at her. He didn't have anything to say, just blinked. And then he turned and left.  
  
  
  
She felt herself sinking into the warmth of the chair behind her, and she put her hands up to her hot cheeks and tried to soak up some of the heat with her cool fingers. "Hey-hey-what's the matter?" Ric asked, going to her side immediately.  
  
  
  
"I didn't-I didn't mean to say that. I just, I was trying to explain to him- "  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth," he said, stopping her and dropping to his knees so that they were at eye-level.  
  
  
  
"I just wanted him to leave," she was still trying to explain, but he took her chin in his hand and tilted her head so that she was forced to meet his eyes.  
  
  
  
"Hey," he said. "You say all this like I didn't know that you were falling in love with me." He said it in complete earnest, but then the corners of his mouth began twitching, and the grin broke out on his face. She smacked him on the shoulder, and he caught her hand in his.  
  
  
  
"You don't lack any self-confidence, do you?"  
  
  
  
He shook his head, still smiling, still holding her hand, and he said, "It's all bravado."  
  
  
  
"Oh, because you're scared?"  
  
  
  
"I'm terrified," he said, and he kissed her temple.  
  
  
  
"You, scared? Of what, Mr. Secretive?"  
  
  
  
"Of what you make me feel when I do this," he replied, and he kissed her softly on the lips, still clutching her hand to his chest, as though he were afraid to lose it.  
  
  
  
When he pulled away, she felt that same smile on her lips, the one he always put there. "That was such a line," she teased him. "I can't believe you just used that on me."  
  
  
  
"It sounded better in my head," he said to her, chuckling.  
  
  
  
"You may be a good lawyer," she said to him, "but you're a terrible ladies' man."  
  
  
  
"I am, am I?"  
  
  
  
"Mmmhmm," she murmured, and then she leaned in to kiss him. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him, and she felt so warm, in his arms, in his sweater.  
  
  
  
"So what about you?" she asked him, pulling away again.  
  
  
  
His arms still around her, he said, "What about me what?"  
  
  
  
"Are you-are you falling in love with me? And you can't avoid it-you have to answer that one honestly."  
  
  
  
She bit her lip, waiting for the answer, and he took one of his hands and brushed a chunk of hair out of her eyes. There was a feeling of anxiety in her stomach, just a tiny fluttering, and the way he was looking at her just made her feel warm inside.  
  
  
  
"I'm pleading the fifth," he told her, and he kissed the tip of her nose. "A good lawyer never shows his hand."  
  
  
  
"I hate to point this out, but we are not in a courtroom here."  
  
  
  
"Then why do I feel like I'm on trial?"  
  
  
  
"Okay, fine," she replied mock-angrily, and she started to pull herself out of the chair and away from his arms, but he held onto her tightly.  
  
  
  
"Okay, okay, okay," he protested, and she snuggled herself into the safety of his arms, relishing and savoring his aroma. "Elizabeth," he started, and she giggled. "What?" he asked.  
  
  
  
"So serious," she said to him, and she brushed a piece of his hair off of his forehead.  
  
  
  
"I can't be serious when you're making fun of me," he said, still grinning.  
  
  
  
"Sorry," she apologized, not sorry.  
  
  
  
"You-" he started again, but then he just smiled and buried his head in her lap. She let her hands tangle in his hair, and when he looked back up at her, his eyes were serious. "Do you even need to ask me that question?" he asked her.  
  
  
  
"No," she said softly. "I guess not."  
  
  
  
They just looked at each other, safe within each other's arms. Nothing could hurt her there, and yet, she was not held captive like Jason had done, like he had done now in Ric's room, and like he had done in the Penthouse. She was free. She was falling in love.  
  
  
  
"Come on," Ric said to her, and he stood up. He put out his hand, and she took it willingly. "He's not going to keep you here. We're leaving. Now."  
  
  
  
To be continued . . .  
  
  
  
"To really love a woman,  
  
to understand her,  
  
you gotta know her deep inside.  
  
Hear every thought,  
  
see every dream  
  
and give her wings, when she wants to fly."  
  
  
  
-- 'Have You Really Ever Loved a Woman?' by Bryan Adams 


	10. part 10: is your love strong enough?

song  
  
  
  
part 10: is your love strong enough?  
  
  
  
Spoilers: I don't even know at this point.  
  
  
  
Author's note: We're coming to an end soon. This is the second-to-last section of 'Song'. Also, as for the L/R/J triangle I have promised in the as-yet-untitled sequel to 'Song', let's just say it's only going to be a triangle in the head of one of those three people.  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own them, yadayadayada.  
  
  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
  
  
Feedback: Please, I love it. I live for it, even. It makes me smile. Even if it's just a, 'Good job', I love it.  
  
  
  
  
  
He had only just walked away from her, only turned his back and gone up the steps on the dock for a moment or two to take an important call. He was only gone a couple of seconds, but that was all it took.  
  
  
  
Mortality was a strange thing. It lulled one into a false sense of security, created a masterful web and then destroyed itself, fading into nothingness.  
  
  
  
It was not the first time she'd had a gun pointed at her.  
  
  
  
It was the first time someone she loved had held the gun.  
  
  
  
"Stand up, Elizabeth," Lucky said to her, but all she could see was the cold, hard barrel of the gun, growing larger and larger until all she could see was the blackness, surrounded by a dim fuzzy outline of someone who had once been a human being. Words failed her.  
  
  
  
Lucky had been watching, waiting for her to come out of Kelly's, because he knew what would happen. He knew that Jason would lock her up, he knew that she would get sick of it, and he knew that she would come here.  
  
  
  
"It's the people who love the most who hurt you the most," she whispered, and she stood slowly and put her mittened hands into the air.  
  
  
  
"What?" Lucky asked, his tone harsh, his eyes foreign.  
  
  
  
"Nothing," she said, almost shaking. "I was just wondering what you thought you were going to do with that gun."  
  
  
  
Bravado, she remembered that. Bravado. If she couldn't have real strength, she'd use Ric's trick. Bravado. She could feel her hands shaking, though, and she knew that she would give herself away. How had this all happened? How in such a short period of time had things gotten so bad? Her life had once been normal, or as close to it as it could have been. How had everything changed so quickly?  
  
  
  
And now the first boy she had ever loved was aiming a gun at her head.  
  
  
  
"I was given an order, Elizabeth."  
  
  
  
"I understand," she said to him quietly. "So where is he? He's got to be watching, right?"  
  
  
  
Lucky blinked at her, seemingly confused. She watched him carefully, waiting for him to give her some sign of hesitation, because she could use that against him.  
  
  
  
And where was Ric?  
  
  
  
"Very good, Miss Webber," she heard, and she twisted her head over her shoulder to see Cesar Faison walking down the steps in his slow, methodical motion, and he pressed his hands together, pulled them apart, pressed them together, pulled them part in an exaggerated twist on a clap.  
  
  
  
It was a terrifying moment. She had seen him in Kelly's, but her brain hadn't let her recognize him, hadn't let her truly see him. But now she saw him, plain as the cold, gray day, and he was truly frightening. He was a ghost, a shadow, someone who was never supposed to still be walking the earth.  
  
  
  
She had never had a greater sense of her own mortality.  
  
  
  
"I couldn't have asked for a better final subject," Faison said to her as he descended the steps, his voice thick with that strange accent. She realized that he, too, held a gun in his hand. "You are the final piece of the puzzle, Miss Webber."  
  
  
  
"You can't just use people like this-" she started, but he cut her off as his feet hit the wood of the dock. His long gray hair hung loosely around his shoulders, his body was clad entirely in black, and all that she was focused on was the gun in his hand.  
  
  
  
"Can't I?" he asked. "I've been doing it for . . . years. Helena Cassadine was my pawn, not the other way around. I am the puppet master."  
  
  
  
"You're a lunatic," she couldn't help herself saying.  
  
  
  
"Sanity is only relative," Faison replied as he stepped behind Lucky, whose arm had grown taut in the man's presence. "Have you not had nights when you have wanted to claw your face, tear down the walls?"  
  
  
  
"I don't hurt people for fun. And you know what? They'll get over it-the people in my life. They'll get over whatever you do to me."  
  
  
  
"They may get over it," he said languidly as he turned to look out at the black water in the gray day. "But will they be able to stand young Miss Elizabeth Webber shot by her ex-lover Lucky Spencer? Think of the shock, Miss Webber."  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth?" she heard, and her heart froze.  
  
  
  
"Ric, go!" she tried to cry, but it was too late. He had returned from the phone call, stepped onto the steps, and he had seen. She looked at him and saw his eyes widen, almost imperceptibly.  
  
  
  
Bravado.  
  
  
  
That was not what Ric had. He had strength, bravery.  
  
  
  
She looked back at Faison, and she saw that his gun was now trained on Ric, and her heart began to pound. "Hands up, Mr. Lansing," Faison said to him.  
  
  
  
"Well, hello, Faison," Ric said to him, his voice cold, his demeanor carefully restrained.  
  
  
  
"Walk down the steps slowly. You are just in time to play witness to the murder of Elizabeth Webber."  
  
  
  
"Let him go," she pleaded with Faison. "He has nothing to do with this. Your plan will still work if he's not here. Let him go."  
  
  
  
She couldn't stand to look at Ric. The cold air whipped up around her and the fog seemed to grow thicker, but she was still acutely aware of the gun trained on her head.  
  
  
  
Faison clucked at her. "He is a part of this. Do you think that anything was coincidence? The telephone call? How convenient that was, don't you agree? So that you would be left alone on this dock, left alone when you had a death threat against you?"  
  
  
  
"Faison, this has nothing to do with her," Ric said steadily. "And if you even touch her, the amount of pain you will experience will be unfathomable."  
  
  
  
"The good lawyer? Making death threats? How you have changed from the man I knew in South America, Mr. Lansing. How this girl has changed you." She watched Faison, watched him as he licked his lips, too a death breath, shoulders moving slightly. "No, this has everything to do with her, because it has everything to do with you."  
  
  
  
Faison moved from behind Lucky and gestured with the gun for Ric to move further down the dock. "Can you see from that position?" Faison asked him. "Would you like to move closer so that perhaps a spatter of her blood might land on you? Wouldn't you be the tragic lover then? Mr. Spencer, you may proceed."  
  
  
  
For the first time in her life, she could say that she was more afraid for another human being than she was for herself, even though she was the one in the most obvious danger. What would happen to Ric once Lucky had killed her? Would Faison kill him, too?  
  
  
  
She couldn't risk that.  
  
  
  
"Lucky," she said quietly. "Lucky, look at me."  
  
  
  
His eyes tried to focus on her, those beautiful blue eyes, but they seemed to be unseeing, blind to a world that had rejected him, at least as far as he had been told.  
  
  
  
"Lucky, you haven't killed anyone. You don't have it in you to kill anyone."  
  
  
  
"I have an order, Elizabeth."  
  
  
  
"Say no to him, Lucky. He can only control you if you let him. Tell him he has no power over you."  
  
  
  
Lucky still did not really see her, was still avoiding her eyes, looking at her with glassy cataracts.  
  
  
  
There had been a time when she would have given everything for Lucky Spencer. He had helped her so much and in so many ways. He had held her after the rape, he had kept her sane, he had kept her insides from bleeding out onto the floor, he had collected the pieces after she had shattered and he had lovingly reconstructed her. She was younger then, more afraid, less aware of who she was, but that didn't make what she had felt for him any less real, any less legitimate. He had still been her first love, no matter what. That was what was important, the no matter what. They had once had that-he would be there for her, no matter what.  
  
  
  
Then Cesar Faison had come and destroyed everything. In one fell swoop he had destroyed everything she found to be good and pure in the world. He had destroyed the most beautiful human being she knew; he had taken it away from her, and from Luke, and from Laura and Nikolas and Lulu and Emily and everyone else who loved Lucky.  
  
  
  
Faison had succeeded once; he was not going to succeed again.  
  
  
  
In the same way that Lucky had given everything for her, she was prepared now to give everything for him.  
  
  
  
Ric had given her the strength to do that. She was happy now, and in her happiness, she found courage. No more people would die, no more innocent people.  
  
  
  
She took the first step towards Lucky, towards the gun, and she heard Ric cry out, but she knew that he understood what she had to do. That was the thing about Ric; he always understood.  
  
  
  
"Do you remember the bracelet, Lucky? The guitar, the boxcar, the painting? New York? The purple tiles?" she asked him.  
  
  
  
Lucky shook his head numbly.  
  
  
  
"He took that all away from you," she said, and she knew that her voice sounded strangled, and she knew that there were tears in her eyes, but she had to continue. Each step that she took became more reluctant physically, and she had to force herself to continue, staring at the gun. "This is your decision now. You can stop all of this."  
  
  
  
Lucky blinked.  
  
  
  
"Stop it. Kill me, if it will make you realize what he's done to you."  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth-" Lucky started, but then he seemed to choke on his own tongue.  
  
  
  
"End this. End it for Brenda and Jason and Sonny and everyone. Just . . . end it."  
  
  
  
She flinched, had to, could have no other reaction as he bent his thumb forward and switched off the safety on the gun, preparing to shoot. Peripherally, she could see Ric start to move forward, probably out of instinct.  
  
  
  
"I'm sorry things had to end this way," she said to Lucky, a tear falling down her cheek and then another one. "Ric," she said softly, finally able to wrench her eyes away from the gun in her face, wrench her eyes away from the blue ones staring at her stonily from over the piece of metal. "Thank you. For-everything. I think . . . I think I love you."  
  
  
  
The tears came freely, attacking her face, and she couldn't help the sobs as they pounded her body. Mortality was a funny thing.  
  
  
  
She turned back to look at Lucky, who blinked.  
  
  
  
His finger began to tighten on the trigger, and she thought she heard Ric call out her name, but all that she could hear was a roaring.  
  
  
  
And then Lucky reaimed the gun, and he pointed it at Faison.  
  
  
  
Faison never had a chance.  
  
  
  
The bullet exploded first in Faison's hand, and the gun tumbled out and away from him. The second bullet attacked Faison's leg and he tumbled to the ground. He never made a noise, never cried out for help, and he fell to the wood of the dock, and Lucky fired a bullet into the man's shoulder.  
  
  
  
Elizabeth felt her legs give out, felt herself tumble down, but she never hit the ground. Ric's arms were around her immediately, and she pulled herself into him, wanting to open up his chest and crawl inside and be safe forever.  
  
  
  
Over.  
  
  
  
It was over.  
  
  
  
Finally.  
  
  
  
She sobbed into Ric's chest, and he whispered into her ear that it was going to be okay, that it was all going to be okay-now. It was all going to be over, he told her. She watched mutely as Lucky fell to the ground too, and he crawled to the man who had held him captive for so many years, his hands covered in Faison's blood. Lucky looked at Elizabeth and Ric and he smiled, a sad shadow of a smile, and he said to them, "I have no sympathy for the devil."  
  
  
  
Ric rained down kisses on her neck and her face, and she knew that it was going to be okay. As long as she was with him. She didn't need to fear any longer.  
  
  
  
"I'm so sorry," Lucky began to say, and he wouldn't stop saying, only rocked back and forth on the dock, holding himself, tears in his eyes, apologizing over and over and over again.  
  
  
  
Eventually they could hear the sound of the sirens.  
  
  
  
To be continued . . .  
  
  
  
"Just one beat of your heart  
  
And stranger than fantasy  
  
I knew from the start  
  
It had to be the place for me  
  
Someone that I would die for  
  
There's no way I could ever leave  
  
Is your love strong enough?"  
  
  
  
-- 'Is Your Love Strong Enough?' by Brian Ferry 


	11. part 11: before you

song  
  
part 11: you must love me  
  
Author's note: Whew. That was a long journey (no references to _______ being made at all), and it was fun. Now I'm taking a break and writing some Liasonfic. Then I will be back for some more LiRic lovin' fun.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own them, yadayadayada.  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Feedback: Always. :D  
  
There were so many people gathered for Courtney Matthews-Quartermaine's funeral, and Elizabeth Webber knew all of them, every face, every sad smile, she recognized it. There was anger in the room, pain, sobriety, and there were other factors-but the most important was relief.  
  
Everyone had begun to breathe again. They were slow, steady breaths, one right after another, in and out, sometimes deep, sometimes shallow. But there it was, that collective breath.  
  
They had made it through.  
  
Almost. Almost all of them had made it through.  
  
Lucky hadn't killed Cesar Faison. The police had come, and Marcus Taggert had looked down at them and kind of smiled his sad, weary smile, and the rain had begun, and all she could do was lie there in Ric's arms until they made them move to get their account of what had happened. Lucky had never killed anyone.  
  
Someone, some merciful angel, had come in the night and pulled the plug on the man who had tried to destroy Port Charles. No one was going to blame anyone, and even Taggert and Scott Baldwin were prepared to let it go.  
  
Faison vanished into the night like a ghost. His body was burned, because, as Taggert chuckled, no one would be sure that he wouldn't become a zombie or a vampire. Port Charles could be a weird town.  
  
As Elizabeth Webber walked into the church for Courtney Matthews- Quartermaine's funeral, holding her head high and clutching the hand of Ric Lansing, she found she could breathe again. A soft rain fell outside, appropriate for the day and the event.  
  
In this time, in this place, no one was condemning anyone. It was all over. It was all over. It had taken a tragedy and another near-miss to end it, but it was over. They took their seats and sat through the service, but Elizabeth couldn't concentrate.  
  
She was distracted by Ric's right hand across his lap, clutching her right hand, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles subconsciously. She was distracted by his arm around her shoulders, absently playing with chunks of hair that had fallen from her French twist. She was distracted by how happy she was.  
  
Jason was conspicuously absent, and she couldn't blame him in the least. She knew, of all people, she knew how hard it was to attend the funeral of someone you loved, to stand there as all eyes were on you, watching, waiting to see if you would crack.  
  
Their secret was out. Sonny knew, and Sonny knew that Carly knew. It didn't matter, somehow. It didn't matter, not any of it. Courtney was dead, and Sonny had forgiven his best friend. It had only been a week ago that Courtney had been alive, only five days ago that Elizabeth had been held captive in Ric's apartment above Kelly's, only five days ago that Lucky had shot Cesar Faison.  
  
Where Lucky was, no one knew. He had taken to the road, she suspected, to clear his head of the voices that had inhabited that space for so long, too long.  
  
Elizabeth watched the entire service mutely, watched Sonny speak for his dearly departed sister; she sat and watched, feeling sorry but not guilty for the girl's death. There was no more room for guilt, not on anyone's part. It was a brand-new day for the citizens of Port Charles.  
  
After the service, Sonny came to her and kissed her on the forehead and he told her that if Ric ever hurt her, he would personally take care of it. She smiled and told him she appreciated it, and then she had looked at Ric and told Sonny she didn't think he had to worry.  
  
Because he didn't. She was safe, there, with Ric.  
  
*  
  
She set the coffee mug in front of the guy seated at the counter of Kelly's, and she enjoyed the jangle of the ceramic against ceramic, and she smiled. She was smiling all the time these days; she couldn't help it. There was always some reason to be smiling.  
  
This was what love was, she decided definitively as she went to another table and refilled a cup of coffee. This was different than Lucky, different than Jason, a whole hell of a lot different than Zander. This was its own breed of animal, and she loved it. She loved everything about life.  
  
She had been painting again, paintings she was proud of, and she was thinking of submitting them to an art school. It had been a long time since she had felt in a position to put herself out there-in any kind of capacity-ever again.  
  
Somehow, Ric gave her that.  
  
He came down the stairs in a sweater and jeans, but his ear was glued to the cellphone. She smiled. He still had his secrets, but that was part of the draw. He was a mystery man, through and through, and she wanted to discover him, more and more every day. She was always learning something new about who he was, about what he believed in.  
  
He grinned at her, and she smiled back and put her hands on her hips until he came to her, still talking on his cell phone. Sonny had decided to take him back, and since that moment, Ric had been calling the man every second of every day. She was happy for him, even if it meant that kind of life. She wanted him to be happy, and he seemed to be happy that way.  
  
Ending the conversation, he closed his phone and slid it into his pocket. His brown eyes twinkled at her, and he slid up the sleeves of his sweaters and then slid them around her waist. "Well, hello, beautiful," he murmured to her, and he kissed the tip of her nose.  
  
"You know, I'm working here," she teased him.  
  
"You're not into public displays of affection?" he teased back, and she pulled away from him.  
  
"Is that what that was?" she tossed back, and she made her way around the counter.  
  
"You know, I've got plenty of people dying to abuse me. I don't have to take this from you," he replied, grinning at her.  
  
The way he looked at her was enough for her. It got her through entire days, because she knew that when he was looking at her, it wasn't as though he didn't see the flaws-he saw them, and he liked, or maybe even loved, her for them. His brown eyes were always warm when they looked at her; he'd shut off with Sonny or Carly, but there was nothing there but sincerity and caring when he looked at her.  
  
"Well, then," she said, mock-angry with him. She put the coffee pot back into place with a dramatic flourish. "Maybe you should go find those people, and then they can abuse you."  
  
"But I like your abuse so much better," he told her, grinning as he sat down at a seat at the counter. He looked at her steadily, and she gazed back at him.  
  
They had moments like that, simple, precious moments when all they would do was look at each other, appreciating one another, understanding the other. They could communicate without ever saying a word.  
  
"Could you come here and give me a kiss already?" he asked her with a sigh.  
  
"You're a little pushy, you know that?"  
  
"Nope, just a good lawyer."  
  
She could have played that game with him for forever and a day, but suddenly all she wanted to do was kiss him. Oh, Lizzie, she told herself. You are in so much trouble. She went around the counter to him, and he pulled her to him, between his legs as he stayed seated on the stool. She kissed him lightly on the mouth, wanting to sink into his warmth and his comfort but fully aware of the people in the restaurant staring at them. She started to pull away, but he pulled her back to her.  
  
He kissed her, letting his hands rest lightly on her hips.  
  
It was the most natural thing. They fit.  
  
And she had no words to describe what she felt. She was a painter; she could paint it, but not describe it. It felt like . . . the wind, but a thousand times more so. It was like taking flight.  
  
He was the one to pull back from her, and he just looked at her.  
  
"What?" she said with a grin.  
  
"I was just thinking about what a gorgeous girlfriend I have," he replied, those brown eyes of his twinkling with the light of a poker player with an excellent hand.  
  
As far as she was concerned, he had the best hand ever, and he had won the game, no questions asked.  
  
"Girlfriend?" she repeated. "I'm your-"  
  
"Well, unless you have a problem with that. Because, honestly, I'm probably still going to call you that even if you do have a problem."  
  
"No," she whispered. "I don't have a problem with that." She kissed him again, and then she pulled back and licked her lips, savoring the taste of him. "I want to tell people," she said with a smile.  
  
"I don't think you need to," the man seated next to them interjected, and then he gestured to his empty cup of coffee. "And could I get some more coffee?"  
  
"Hey," Ric said to him, still smiling. "This woman is going to be famous one day, and you're going to regret that you ever made her get more coffee." Then he paused and looked at Elizabeth, and then that smile spread across his face. "You want to tell people?" he asked her. "That we're together?"  
  
Before she even had a chance to reply, he had gotten up and leapt onto the counter. She grasped for him, but he was not going to be moved. "Um, excuse me, everyone," he called, and he waited patiently until Kelly's quieted. "I have an announcement to make. Your waitress for the day, Miss Elizabeth Webber, and I are officially a couple." There was a smattering of applause, but he quieted them down with a motion of his hands. "I also would like everyone to know that I am hopelessly in love with her." He grinned down at her, and then the entire place erupted into applause and laughter and talking, and she pulled at his pants until he slid back down onto his stool.  
  
They were both laughing when she said, "I love you. I hope you don't have a problem with that, because, honestly, I'm probably going to tell people that I love you even if you do mind."  
  
He smiled and he replied. "No, no, I don't have a problem with that."  
  
Finis.  
  
"Baby before you Well I was bad news In letting me love you I think I can get through And now I think it's kind of funny that you say you love me You tell me that I'm crazy then you smile And now I think I'll get through The end of the world." -- 'Before You' by Chantal Kreviazuk 


End file.
